


skin and bones

by Anonymous



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: (they are in freshmen year), Aged-Up Losers Club (IT), Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Bad Parents Maggie Tozier & Wentworth Tozier, Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier Are Best Friends, Bisexual Eddie Kaspbrak, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Gay Richie Tozier, Gen, Georgie Denbrough Lives, Homophobia, Hurt Richie Tozier, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Insecure Richie Tozier, M/M, Other, Out of Character, Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris Are Best Friends, Richie Tozier Whump, Richie Tozier is a Mess, Supportive Losers Club (IT), no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:40:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 30,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23337799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Richie “Trashmouth” Tozier was pretty young when he learned a lot of things. Despite his hyperactive mouth and tendencies, he was actually a very smart person. He learned a few things that weren’t taught in school too though. Early on, he learned how it really felt to be starving when his mother would be too drunk to go buy groceries or cook for weeks at a time, too busy stuffing herself with olives, saltines, and alcohol to care. His dad usually ate at the office or the house of whoever he slept around with that night anyways. He learned what a belt felt like on his bare back, or steel-toe boots to the ribs, or a fist connecting with his jaw from his father coming home in a bad mood.But Richie also learned how to put up a mask to hide how he felt about these things. With his foul mouth and crude jokes, people were too busy “beeping” Richie to take him seriously. And that’s just the way he wanted things.
Relationships: Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Richie Tozier & Everyone, Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris, The Losers Club & Richie Tozier
Comments: 156
Kudos: 438





	1. at the day's end

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first ever fic, so please feel free to leave feedback so i can improve! 
> 
> TW: referenced past sexual assault, child abuse, child neglect, and homophobic language

Richie “Trashmouth” Tozier was pretty young when he learned a lot of things. Despite his hyperactive mouth and tendencies, he was actually a really smart person. He learned a few things that weren’t taught in school though. Early on, he learned how it really felt to be starving when his mother would be too drunk to go buy groceries or cook for weeks at a time, too busy stuffing herself with olives, saltines, and alcohol to care. His dad usually ate at the office or the house of whoever he slept around with that night anyways. He learned what a belt felt like on his bare back, or steel-toe boots to the ribs, or a fist connecting with his jaw from his father coming home in a bad mood. 

But Richie also learned how to put up a mask to hide how he felt about these things. With his foul mouth and crude jokes, people were too busy “beeping” Richie to take him seriously. And that’s just the way he wanted things. None of the Losers knew about his home life. Not even his best friends, Stanley Uris, Bill Denbrough, and Eddie Kaspbarak. He’d known Stan and Bill his whole life, but even the bird-loving teen and the group’s fearless leader had never really met Wentworth and Maggie Tozier. And Eddie... Richie could never let Eddie know.

Richie knew that he had it pretty easy, though. He didn’t have an overbearing mom like Eds. He didn’t have a fucked up dad like Bev, though she had her aunt now. Sure, his parents weren’t as kind as the Denbrough’s or the Uris’ or Ben’s mom, even Mike’s grandpa. But he knew he still had it easy. It was how life had always been for him. So he was used to it. Used to the bruises nobody else could see, the constant gnawing in his gut, the never ending shift between his dad beating him or ignoring his existence. His parents weren’t great, but they weren’t the worst. So, Richie dealt. It’s how his life was.

~~~~~

“Staniel the Maniel, c’mon, you’ve been staring at that book for so long. You know, it’s almost as long as I stare up Ms. Kaspbarak’s-“ Richie was about to finish, when nearly all of the Losers said a quick “Beep Beep, Richie,” and he promptly shut up, still retaining his shit-eating grin.

“What is it with you and my mom, asshole?” Eddie rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. The Losers continued on with their lunch, the chattering incessant. Richie watched as his friends ate their lunches, continuing to run his mouth. At least if he was making crude jokes and talking, it wouldn’t look weird that he wasn’t eating. Of course, Beverly took notice anyways. Although Stan and Eddie were Richie’s best friends, he and Bev had a silent understanding that they were both going through something. They didn’t talk about it. Well, Richie definitely didn’t. Bev had told all the Losers about what happened before she moved in with her aunt. They were all more than thankful when her aunt decided to move to Derry, rather than take Bev away from all of them. And imagine their luck! Even Mike was going to school with them now.

“Rich, why aren’t you eating anything?” Bev was frowning. Shit. All of them were looking at him. Even Stan looked up from his book.

“Don’t worry, Bevvy Bear, just forgot to pack myself a snack. I was so full from eating out Ms. K, it just slipped my mind,” Richie chuckled a bit nervously, but he didn’t let the other Losers notice the shift in tone. 

“That’s disgusting. But you need to eat,” Eddie rolled his eyes as he handed Richie a bag of baby carrots. Richie nearly cried. Then, one by one, the five remaining Losers set a part of their lunch in front of him. One of Bill’s cookies, Ben’s other sandwich half, some of Bev’s crackers, Stan’s celery, and Mike’s applesauce. Richie thanked them all, then proceeded to dig in. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much food in front of him. While the rest of the Losers chuckled, telling him to slow down, Bev and Stan made eye contact, concern in both of their eyes.

~~~~~

After school, Richie said farewell as they biked past his house, all of the Losers going to their respective homes. When he stepped inside, Richie was immediately hit by the overwhelming stench of alcohol. It was nearly too much to bear. He slammed the door shut behind himself, hoping to maybe get the slightest reaction. But nothing. When he peeked his head into the living room, his mom was passed out on the couch, a bottle in hand. There were numerous bottles around her, and a few were broken.

Sighing, Richie went to the kitchen and grabbed a trash bag. He picked up the broken and empty bottles, somewhat recklessly, putting them into the bag. He stopped when he saw the box of saltines on the coffee table. If he took a stack of them, maybe she wouldn’t notice. He could take them for lunch tomorrow, and keep his friends from worrying anymore. So, that’s what Richie did. He finished cleaning and put the saltines in his backpack, then proceeded to make his way back to the kitchen. Opening the cupboards and fridge, they really were empty. At least if his mom didn’t have any olives or saltines left, it would force her to go out to the store. Richie jumped at this opportunity and proceeded to write a list of some food items. Maybe his mom would listen, maybe she wouldn’t. But he could hope. Richie stuck the list on top of his mom’s purse and went up to his room to get started on his homework. Blasting rock music on his Walkman, Richie pulled his headphones on and drowned out the rest of the world as he did his History homework. He smiled a bit to himself when he heard his mom leave the house, then come back a half hour later.

Three hours had passed before Richie heard the front door slam, which meant his father was home. He took off his headphones and set down his pencil, listening for his dad. If Richie was lucky, his dad would go to his study and drown his anger in alcohol. He’d still be just as mad, but at least if he was busy getting drunk, maybe he’d leave Richie alone. That’s if Richie was lucky. He knew this wasn’t the case though. As if on cue, his dad began to shout. At first, it was at his mom, but after some time went by, their arguing quieted. Which meant it was Richie’s turn.

“Richard, get down here!” His father’s voice rang throughout the whole house, practically shaking it. Richie sighed, mentally preparing himself, before he opened his door. He took his time going down the stairs, but no amount of time could prepare him for what Wentworth was going to say or do. It never did. With shaky legs and his stomach twisting in knots, Richie walked into the living room. His mom was nowhere in sight, probably went upstairs to get blackout drunk again. At least she’d bought groceries. Too soon, Richie was face to face with his father, who held a bottle in one hand.

“Why is the kitchen such a fucking mess?! I told you to clean! You’re so goddamn _useless_!” Wentworth kicked the back of Richie’s knees, sending him to the floor without much struggle. Richie was practically a stick, so it didn’t take any effort to knock him down. His glasses flew a few feet away, and Richie let out a sigh of relief at the lack of a crunching or crackling sound from them breaking. Getting thrown to his knees hurt a little, but then Wentworth started kicking Richie in the gut. Harder and harder and harder, until he truly fell over onto his side. He could hardly process the pain, until he tasted bile rising in his throat. He swallowed it down though. If he threw up when he was already in such a shit situation with his dad, he knew it was just going to get worse for him.

“You’re such a disgusting fucking _faggot_ ! I can’t believe I got stuck with such a _disappointment_ of a son!” Wentworth’s voice was starting to grow louder as Richie’s ears rang from the pain. He was starting to get his bearings, when his head exploded in pain. Cool, bitter, sticky beer coated his face, which mixed with the blood that began to spill out from a cut on his forehead. The words still hurt more.

“Dad, I’m sorry…” Richie tried to mumble, but Wentworth glared down at Richie, pressing the steel-toe of his work shoes into the side of Richie’s head. 

“Don’t call me that. I didn’t raise some _faggot_ ,” Wentworth dug in harder as he spat the words at Richie. “Clean this mess up and get your fucking act together. Then I don’t want to see you for the rest of the night. You’re such a goddamn waste of money and food.”

Wentworth stomped off to his study, leaving Richie on the floor, curled up with blood pouring down the side of his head. It took another twenty minutes or so, but Richie managed to drag himself to his feet and get started cleaning up. Part of him was thankful his dad had done it in the kitchen. Blood and beer didn’t wash out of carpet easily. 

Half an hour later, the kitchen was spotless. Richie was more than glad that it hadn’t even been that messy to begin with. He grabbed his glasses, placing them back on his face, resting on his nose. He finished and put the rags he’d used in the washing machine, along with his now blood-stained shirt, struggling as he tried to lift his arms, then made his way upstairs to his bathroom. Richie was light on his feet, as to not attract anymore unwanted attention from his dad. He wasn’t sure his body could handle it, and his brain sure as hell couldn't handle anymore verbal abuse.

When Richie caught sight of his sorry state in the bathroom mirror, he outwardly cringed. There was a beautifully inconveniencing cut on his forehead, clear as day. Panicking, Richie cleaned it, then dared to make his way to his parents’ bedroom. He kept reminding himself that his mom was drunk downstairs again, and his father had locked himself away in his study. Carefully, Richie pulled one of the drawers open and looked at the contents for a few minutes, before he spotted what he was looking for. Back in his bathroom, Richie carefully applied his mother’s makeup to the cut. It wasn’t perfect and it stung like hell, but if he moved his hair in the right way, it was covered just enough. Richie tended to the rest of his injuries, then cradled his arms to his aching ribs as he made his way to bed, dreading going to school the next day.


	2. the masks we wear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! i know this chapter is a little bit short, but i have another chapter to post today. i was going to post them together, but it would've been way too long for one chapter. so, two chapters today!
> 
> possible tw: description of injuries

The next day, Richie woke up feeling like his insides were turned to lead. He had a splitting headache, and it was still difficult to lift his arms, which made getting dressed a bit harder. He took a few minutes to get dressed into something that hid bruises he didn’t know he had on his arms and legs, as well as cover up the cut on his forehead. Grabbing his backpack, Richie practically sprinted out the door (not really, his whole body hurt too much) to get to school. He rode his bike down the streets of Derry, watching as parents wished their kids goodbye. Hugged them tight and handed them lunches. Waved at them until the kid looked down with embarrassment. That’s what Richie wanted, more than a lot of stuff, though certainly not more than anything. He’d dealt with this shit his whole life. It just stung to see other kids getting love. Attention in the way that he never got it. In the way he would never admit he craved from his parents so deeply, no matter how they treated him.

The blaring of a car horn tore Richie from his thoughts, and he rushed to get out of the middle of the street, where a car was approaching at a speed too high for a school area. He was just about out of the street, when the car clipped his back tire, and Richie and his bike were sent slamming down to meet the sidewalk, his glasses falling to the ground and audibly breaking this time. He collided painfully with the concrete, entangled with his bike, and a few kids passing by to get to the entrance laughed.

Richie couldn’t find the strength to get up though. He felt his already-bruised ribs pressing into the floor beneath him, tears welling in his eyes. He quickly blinked them away though. He didn’t need the insult-to-injury of being dubbed a crybaby. He was about to prepare himself to get up, when he heard two voices.

“Richie? Richie, shit, are you okay? What the hell, you dumbass?” Richie recognized Eddie’s voice and he began to beam, even though he couldn’t really see the smaller, fannypack-clad boy. Eddie and Stanley put up their kickstands and made their way to the trashmouth, Stan’s expression stoic, while Eddie’s whole face was worried but angry.

“Why, I’m in tip-top shape, Ol’ chap! Just took a little spill, no biggie,” Richie used his old English gentleman accent and tried to reassure him by getting up, but he hissed in pain as he attempted to push himself up. Not being able to see didn’t help either.

“Richie, you were just hit by a car and you wrecked your bike. That wasn’t just a little spill. We’re going to help you,” Stanley spoke matter-of-factly as he picked up Richie’s bike, while Eddie grabbed Richie’s cracked glasses and helped him to his feet. It took everything in Richie to not cry out in pain as Eddie helped him up by grabbing around his too-skinny, aching arm.

“Aw, hon, you don’t hafta worry ‘bout little old me,” Richie batted his eyelashes, using a terrible Southern Belle voice. Stan shook his head with a sigh, while Eddie rolled his eyes. Stan knew Richie was using his voices to deflect. He always did when things turned too serious for his liking. Richie put on the cracked glasses, which didn’t do a ton with one of the lenses broken, but it was nice being able to see more than just blobs of color. Looking down at the sorry state of his bike, Richie grimaced, sucking in a breath through his teeth. 

“Are you sure you’re okay, ‘Chee?” Eddie’s eyebrows were furrowed as he examined Richie.

“Never been better, Eds,” Richie spoke in a sing-song voice this time. This warranted a punch to the arm from Eddie, which Richie accepted with a laugh, wincing a bit at the contact with his sore arms.

“Don’t call me that. Dipshit,” Eddie muttered and rolled his eyes again for what must’ve been the fourth time in the five minutes they’d seen each other. Richie was relieved though. Eddie was off his case, now all that was left was-

“Richie, you hit the concrete pretty hard, and your glasses  _ and  _ bike are busted. You should at least get checked out by the nurse,” Stan had his mouth pressed into a straight line, a small hint of disappointment (and what Richie thought was concern) shining through his normally stoic expression.

“Stan the Man! I can’t believe you want me to get checked out by another woman!  _ This _ ,” Richie gestured to himself with one hand, keeping a hold on his bike with the other, “is all for Mrs. K! Right, Eds?” 

Again, a punch was received, and Richie kept laughing, practically bouncing as he walked along to the bike racks. Stan maintained his expression as he let the other two walk ahead of him on the narrower part of the sidewalk. He didn’t miss the way Richie had a just barely noticeable limp (if you were looking), or the way he shrunk in on himself ever so slightly when Eddie yelled at him for who knew what. But Richie kept up his smile and laugh, which was starting to concern Stan more than a little bit. Sure, people were allowed to be optimistic and look on the bright side of things, but Richie was a wreck, and he was laughing it off. Stan sighed again and the three boys made it inside to school.

~~~~~~~

In their first period English class, when Bev caught sight of Richie, she pursed her lips as he sat down next to her. The cracked glasses and disheveled, dirty shirt was enough to raise concern from her. 

“Rich, what happened? Are you okay? `” Beverly took Richie’s hand, knitting her eyebrows together.

“Don’t fret, my fair maiden! I was slaying a fearsome beast, and took a tumble off my mighty steed!” Richie reassured her with a smile, using a boisterous “knightley” voice. He took his hand back and opened up his backpack, looking for his notebook. When he saw the condition of the small stack of saltines he’d packed the day before, he cringed and got up to throw them away. As if protesting the action, his stomach grumbled. Thankfully, it wasn’t too loud, so he was spared the embarrassment. When he got back to his seat though, Bev still wasn’t satisfied.

“Rich, seriously, you look like a mess. What happened? Was it the Bowers gang? And what was the deal with those crackers just now?” Bev crossed her arms. Clearly she wasn’t going to let this go.

“I just fell off my bike on the way to school is all, Bev. The crackers got crushed so I threw them away,” Richie shrugged, retrieving his notes finally, as well as a pencil just as the bell rang. He managed to stay focused on his notes and the teacher throughout the period. Anything was better than facing Bev’s worried glances. He wasn’t supposed to worry his friends. Richie was the funny one! He was supposed to make his friends laugh, and cheer them up when they were down. He made it a few more minutes into his English teacher’s droning, when he let his thoughts take over, completely drowning out his teacher’s voice.

The next few periods flew by, Richie spaced out all throughout them, too focused on his stomach practically eating itself inside of him. His teachers didn’t try to make him pay attention though. He always kept up his grades, so they didn’t worry about keeping him in check. He still joked and smiled with the Losers who were in his classes, but as soon as their attention was off of him, Richie let himself just zone out, doodling mindlessly on his notebook pages. Richie just tried to brace himself for lunch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things are gonna go more downhill before they get better for poor Rich.


	3. breaking at the seams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things are looking a little rough for Richie right now. when will our boy accept he needs help??
> 
> possible TW: smoking, fainting

Finally, it was lunch. All of the Losers would be there obviously, but as long as Richie kept his mouth going, they wouldn’t be able to tell anything was wrong. Nothing was wrong anyways! He was _fine_. So, he put on his best shit-grinning and bounced over to the Losers’ lunch table. When he saw everyone had already arrived, he ran up behind the seat Eddie and Stan were on, then shoved himself between the two boys. He cringed when he pressed against the sides of his best friends, but he kept up his mask.

“Hey, Losers! Sorry I’m late, Mrs. K just couldn’t get enough of me,” Richie snickered, while Eddie elbowed him in the ribs, going on about how disgusting that was. Richie wasn’t paying attention though. He couldn’t stop himself this time. He curled in on himself, hands flying to his ribs. They hurt like hell. Fuck. Tears began pricking at the back of his eyes.

“Rich, what’s wrong?” Ben’s sweet voice came from across the table. God-fucking-bless Ben, Richie thought. Such a sweetheart. Richie sat up, taking a deep breath as he removed his hands from his chest, where he’d had them softly holding the offending body part.

“Ah, ‘t-tis but a flesh wound! I suppose the beast got me after all,” Richie chuckled, using his “knightley” voice again. He hated every second of what was happening right then. The Losers were all looking at him. _Again_. God, why did he have to be such a fuckup? His dad was right, he was such a disappoint-

“Richie, you there, honey?” Beverly had a gentle look of concern on her face, all of the Losers fashioning a similar one. With the exception of Stan, who had the weird look from earlier. Richie hated it.

“What? Of course I’m here, silly. I-” Richie was about to keep going, when Mike put a hand on his shoulder.

“Richie, we asked what happened. You just sat there, staring at the table. You wanna tell us what’s wrong?” Mike’s hand squeezed Richie’s shoulder lightly, in a comforting way. However, Richie felt anything but comfort in that moment. Mike’s strong hand felt like it was slowly pushing him into the floor. It felt so heavy.

“I-I’ve gotta go,” Richie mumbled and got up from the table. As soon as he was up from his seat, Richie was running. His whole body was screaming at him to stop, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t ever stop. No, because if he stopped, the Losers would see just how fucked up he really was. They’d realize just how much they didn’t really need him. All he did was annoy them after all.

Richie made it to one of the bathrooms on the opposite end of the campus and locked himself in one of the cells. He was thankful nobody ever used that particular bathroom, but he could also see why. He didn’t pay much attention to the gross state of the bathroom though. He just sobbed as the cries wracked his body. He cried and cried until the bell rang for the end of lunch. Of course nobody had come looking for him. Why would they? He was just annoying to everyone, after all. 

Richie made the executive decision to skip his fifth period. He’d rather be found dead than crying in public. In a school bathroom, of all places. It’s not like his parents gave a shit anyways. So, he took the time to smoke a few cigarettes. At least the rundown bathroom was good for that. The fire alarm had long since stopped working. Richie knew from experience. Sure, he’d been nervous to smoke in the bathroom the first time, but one he discovered the fire alarm was completely useless, he often retreated to the dingy bathroom to smoke when his thoughts became too much in class.

~~~~~~

A few minutes before the fifth period bell rang, Richie made his way out of the bathroom and to the boy’s locker room. He had to get changed before Eddie and Bill came in. Even though Eddie’s mom didn’t let him participate in the actual physical activities, their gym teacher just had Eddie act as a TA. Record mile times, take attendance, and whatever other boring shit the teacher didn’t want to do that day. Richie thought it was the funniest thing when he saw Eddie get visibly annoyed at the tasks he was given, or the way he flushed with embarrassment when Richie started to cheer _him_ on as he ran, even though Eddie was just recording times on the bleachers by the track.

When the bell rang for the end of fifth period, Richie was already dressed for P.E. with his back pressed against the lockers. A sweatshirt and sweatpants wasn’t the best option for running the track, but he couldn’t let Eddie or Bill see his arms and legs. Richie closed his eyes, letting himself relax against the back of his locker. He actually started to doze off, when he heard Bill and Eddie walk through the door.

“... I don’t know, Bill. I’m worried about him. He’s been acting weird since this morning,” Eddie’s voice was laced with concern. Richie opened his eyes and began to rush towards the door to get out of the room as soon as possible. He couldn’t handle being next to Bill and Eddie right then. God, why did he have to choose a locker right next to Bill?

“I-I’m s-s-sure he’s f-f-fine, E-Eddie. We-We can t-talk to h-h-him d-d-during class,” Bill tried to comfort Eddie, when Richie began to pass by them. Bill wasn’t about to let that happen though. He grabbed RIchie’s wrist, stopping the taller boy in his tracks.

“Hey, Big Bill! I’d love to talk, but I’ve gotta get to class, so-” Richie tried to pull away, but Bill’s hold was strong. 

“Richie, we’re all worried about you. What _was_ that at lunch?” Eddie had a stern look, his arms crossed.

“There’s nothing to worry about, Eddie Spaghetti! I’m great! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really have to get to class,” Richie yanked his arm away and rushed out the door, leaving Bill and Eddie frowning at the doorway.

Sooner than Richie would have liked, class started, Eddie following their gym teacher, Mr. Wilson, out to the bleachers to take attendance. Bill sat down next to Richie, shooting him worried glances. Richie couldn’t stand it. He was making them worry _again_ , God, why couldn’t he just get his act together?

“Alright, today we’re doing two miles. That’s eight track laps. I’m not timing you, this is purely completion based,” Mr. Wilson shouted at the students, before handing the clipboard to Eddie. He blew his whistle, and the students were off, running at various paces, some not running at all.

Among the students that were running, Richie was right at the front, Bill following close behind, trying to catch up. Richie prayed that if he ran fast enough, he could get Bill off his case. By the middle of the second lap though, Bill began to catch up. Richie’s long, lanky limbs were good for running, but Bill had always been more athletic, and Richie’s extra layers were beginning to wear him out.

“R-Rich, y-y-you’ve gotta talk to-to us! We-we-we’re all r-r-r-really worried!” Bill huffed out as the pair kept running. When Bill said “worried,” Richie ran harder, not saying a word as he passed Bill again.

“R-Richie! P-p-please, let us h-h-h-help you! We-we all l-l-love you, and we can’t s-s-stand seeing you like th-this. S-s-so just talk to us p-p-please,” Bill caught up to Richie, whose pace began to decrease until he and Bill were side-by-side at a slow and steady jog, Richie taking deep breaths.

  
“S-sorry, Big Bill. I didn’t mean to worry you guys, I-I just…” Richie was about to come up with something, _anything_ , to say to stop Bill’s trouble, when his knees buckled and he pitched forward, colliding with the track as he fainted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know this is a little late, but i got carried away writing again! so expect another chapter coming VERY soon :)
> 
> reach me on tumblr @scribble-stars


	4. pieces falling down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've been so inspired to write!! i hope you guys like what i'm putting out, and i hope you guys don't mind how much i've been updating!
> 
> tw: implied child abuse, brief discussions of weight, panic attack

“ _ Shit _ , R-richie!” Bill shouted as he dove to help his friend. He shouted for help, and within minutes, maybe even seconds, Eddie was there, looking just as panicked as Bill felt. A crowd of students were beginning to gather around them, curious about what all of the commotion was about.

“What the hell happened?!” Eddie rushed to Richie’s other side, putting a hand against his forehead. He was warm, but Eddie attributed that to the fact that he was wearing a sweatshirt and sweatpants over his gym clothes for reasons unknown to Eddie.

“W-w-we were running, a-a-and he w-was about to t-t-talk to me, wh-when he fainted,” Bill looked at Eddie, who was unzipping Richie’s sweatshirt.

“He probably over-heated, the dumbass. Why is he wearing a sweatsuit to run? It’s not even cold!” Eddie grumbled as he pulled Richie’s arms out of the sweatshirt, removing it carefully. When Eddie and Bill saw the bruises, both of their eyes grew wide, making eye contact again. They both knew Richie had crashed his bike, even though Bill hadn’t been there. But these bruises didn’t look like they could’ve been caused by a bike crash. They didn’t have long to worry about this detail though, because Mr. Wilson finally showed up.

“What happened to Tozier, Denbrough?” Mr. Wilson got on his knee by Richie’s head on the opposite side of Ben, next to Eddie. Bill explained again, while Mr. Wilson sighed as he wrote on a slip of paper. Handing Eddie the slip, he told the rest of the class to get back to the track. As Eddie balled up Richie’s sweatshirt to put under his head, Richie began to stir

“Eds?” Richie squinted up at the smaller boy. He tried to lift his arm to bring to his eyes and block the sun, but it felt like it had that morning. Like lead. He could hardly move. Bill noticed what he was trying to do and moved so that he was blocking the sun from his friend’s eyes.

“Yeah, I’m right here, ‘Chee. So is Bill. Do you remember what happened?” Eddie bit his bottom lip as he looked at his best friend. Eddie needed to make sure he hadn’t gotten a concussion when he hit the track. Richie was too pale, which made the bags under his eyes even more pronounced.

“We-we were running and now I’m on the floor. I may be crazy, but I’m gonna go with I passed out?” Richie chuckled a little, but his ribs, which had been through a lot that day if Richie was being fair, screamed in protest. He winced and stopped laughing abruptly.

“Yeah, you asshole, but what-”

“Language, Kaspbrak,” Mr. WIlson chided, and Eddie huffed quietly. “Well, you boys should take Tozier to the nurse’s office. Can you stand, Tozier?”

“I-I think so,” Richie sat up, his head pounding. Fuck, everything hurt.

“T-take it s-s-slow, Rich,” Bill reminded him. With some help from Eddie and Bill, Richie was back to his feet. He relied heavily on the two other Losers to stay standing though. His legs trembled and he was . While Eddie was a bit annoyed he had to bear nearly the entirety of Richie’s weight, he was more so scared by how little it was. Richie had always been tall and lanky, the only Loser still taller than him being Mike, but Eddie knew he was too light. They’d worry about that later though. Eddie was more worried about Richie passing out again on their way to the nurse’s office.

And he almost did. But Bill and Eddie kept him up, stopping for short rests when Richie asked. They made it to the nurse’s office, and Richie sat down in one of the chairs in the waiting area. The three boys could hear the nurse, Ms. Mitchell, in the room talking to who they assumed was probably another student. A few minutes later, a girl none of the present Losers recognized left the nurse’s office, and a kind voice called out for them to come in. Richie pushed himself up on his own, determined to not ask his friends for anymore help. He walked shakily into Ms. Mitchell’s office, Eddie and Bill right behind him on either side. Richie got onto the small recovery bed, back against the wall. When Ms. Mitchell saw Eddie, her smile grew.

“Hello, Eddie! How can I help you today?” Ms. Mitchell looked at the hypochondriac, who turned red and looked down.

“We’re not here for me. Richie passed out in gym class while we were running. He doesn’t have a concussion though,” Eddie took a deep breath and explained to the nurse, while Bill added the part about the sweatsuit.

“Alright, well, it sounds like it may have just been from overheating, but I’d rather be safe than sorry, so I’ll just give you a quick check up,” Ms. Mitchell put the back of her hand on Richie’s forehead, a small smile on her face. “You’re feeling a bit warm, but I don’t think you have a fever. Do you feel cold, Richie?”

“No, I feel warm,” Richie chuckled half-heartedly, cringing at his ribs again. Ms. Mitchell nodded and grabbed the stethoscope around her neck, putting it on.

“Alright, have you been dizzy?”

“A little bit today, but mostly before I passed out,” Richie mumbled. “But I crashed my bike on my way to school this morning. I-I’ve uh, felt a little off I guess.”

“Okay,” Ms. Mitchell nodded her head and walked over to the recovery bed. “Can you stand up for me, Richie?”

Richie did as he was instructed, and both Eddie and Bill tensed up, both internally bracing themselves to help their friend again.

“I’m going to need you to take a deep breath, okay, sweetheart?” Ms. Mitchell put the stethoscope under Richie’s shirt against his back. Richie took a deep breath, and the other Losers saw the way that Ms. Mitchell’s eyebrows furrowed, her lips turning into a small frown. One that almost reminded the two boys of Stanley, the way her lips pressed together like his did.

“Can you step onto the scale over there for me?” Ms. Mitchell pointed to the scale in the other corner of the room, Richie’s face visibly paling. His mouth clamped shut and the raven-haired boy nodded, making his way to the scale. Bill was almost certain he’d pass out again.

Richie made it over to the scale and stepped on, while Ms. Mitchell slid the counterweight across the beam. Her frown deepened as she wrote down the number on a clipboard she’d grabbed since the boys came inside.

“When’s the last time you ate, Richie?” Ms. Mitchell’s expression softened as she made eye contact with the boy, even through his cracked glasses lense.

Richie hesitated at the question, visibly needing to think about it. A lump formed in Eddie’s throat when he noticed this detail.

“This morning, before I left for school. My lunch got crushed when I crashed my bike, so I threw it away,” Richie told Ms. Mitchell, relieved he wasn’t telling her a complete lie. He would’ve felt worse if that were the case. Ms. Mitchell sighed and made her way over to her desk, grabbing a water bottle and granola bar. She handed the items to Richie, then got on her knee in front of the recovery bed where he was sitting again.

“I want you to drink this water and eat this granola bar. I’m going to call your parents and-”

“No! Y-You can’t,  _ please _ , my  _ dad- _ ” Richie interjected, but clasped a hand over his mouth before he could let his big mouth screw up anything else. His breathing started to pick up, his whole body shaking. Tears pricked his eyes, and he squeezed them shut, trying to stop the tears. 

_ Jesus fucking Christ, Trashmouth! You never shut up do you? It’s your own fault you’re in this mess! _

Richie didn’t register the hand on his back, or when Eddie pulled him into a hug, trying to get him to calm down.

_ You’re such a handful! The Losers only put up with you because they feel  _ bad  _ for you. Once they find out about your fucked up family and the fact that you’re disgusting and gay, they’ll leave you! But you can’t blame them. Because it wouldn’t be wrong of them. _

Richie wasn’t sure when it had happened, but when he calmed down and opened his eyes, he realized he was in a hug between Bill and Eddie, Ms. Mitchell watching from a safe distance away. His ribs were practically pulsating in his chest from the pain, but his attention was torn away from the pain when Bill noticed he’d opened his eyes.

“R-Richie? Y-y-you here w-with us n-now, b-buddy?” Bill’s voice was gentle in a way Richie immediately recognized as the tone Bill used for Georgie. Richie pulled away, holding his arms close to himself.

“Just  _ peachy _ , Billy Boy! Sorry about that! I just got a bit freaked out over nothing. My old man can be a little grumpy when he’s bothered at work, and I forgot to do some chores yesterday, so he’s been in a mood. It’s really nothing. He just lectures me, and sometimes he yells. He said he’d ground me from leaving the house the next time he had to talk to me,” Richie shrugged, lying through his teeth. “And I couldn’t stand the thought of not being able to see the lovely Mrs. K!”

Richie wiggled his eyebrows, while Eddie rolled his eyes, giving a quick “beep beep, Richie.” A small trace of a smile was on Eddie’s face, and that instantly made Richie relieved. He glanced over at Bill, who had a small grin on his face too, his arms crossed over his chest. It seemed that his fellow Losers had already forgotten his breakdown not even five minutes before. Across the room, now at her desk, Ms. Mitchell cleared her throat.

“Okay, Mr. Tozier. If you eat the granola bar and drink the water, I’ll let you go. Just make sure you get a friend to walk you home, in case you faint again. And please,  _ please _ be careful, alright sweetheart?” Ms. Mitchell gave Richie a gentle smile, and the trashmouth nodded, unwrapping the granola bar before he eagerly took a bite.

~~~~~

As Richie, Eddie, and Bill made their way back to the locker room to get changed, Richie was practically back to his chatty, energetic self. The granola bar, though small and not nearly enough to make up for not eating since lunch the day before, made a world’s difference. Richie was thankful that he’d stopped shaking, and he felt less warm.

“H-H-How’re you f-feeling, R-Rich?” Bill looked at Richie, a soft smile on his face again. There was still a wary look in his eyes, but the smile was genuine.

“Crikey, mate, I’m betta than a kangaroo in a trampoline park,” Richie practically shouted in an Australian accent, a wide smile on his face. Bill chuckled a bit, while Eddie rolled his eyes, a smile on his face too.

“Was that supposed to be Australian? That was terrible,” Eddie chuckled a little bit too by then, and Richie put his hands on Eddie’s shoulders, looking him in the eyes.

“You’re a feisty little fella, aren’t cha?” Richie continued in his Australian voice, proceeding to tease both Eddie and Bill as they got dressed. They finished the last few minutes of school on the bleachers, chatting mindlessly, until the final bell rang for the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, it's a start, Rich.
> 
> reach me on tumblr @scribble-stars
> 
> i also made a playlist for the story!! i will add to it as i write, but i've been listening to all of these songs on repeat as i write this  
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLTmz-r62JUue25ByE0N2NDc3xGi0okj6v


	5. hideout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone! i am SO sorry for the delay! i was swamped with schoolwork this week, but now i have spring break, so expect more chapters!
> 
> (possible) tw: child neglect; internalized homophobia; mention of past child abuse; very strong self-hatred/self-deprecation

The rest of the Losers were waiting at the bike racks when Richie, Bill, and Eddie got there. Beverly and Stan were having a hushed conversation, while Ben was talking to Mike about homework from one of their classes. When Stan and Beverly noticed the three boys, they stopped talking, then abruptly changed the subject and volume, though Bill and Eddie both had a good idea as to what they were talking about.

“Hey, Losers!” Richie smiled at his friends as the boys finally reached them. Ben gave a small wave, while Beverly and Stan looked at Richie. Bev had a tight grin on her face, while Stan’s expression remained stoic as always.

“Heya, Richie,” Mike gave a warm but gentle greeting to the trashmouth. Bill and Eddie grabbed their bikes, Eddie grabbing Richie’s too. He gave the bike to Richie and pushed back his hair.

“Alright, Rich, we should get going. Walking will take longer after all,” Eddie sighed and began walking with his bike.

“Yeah. I mean, I wouldn’t wanna keep your mom waiting. She’s expecting me. We’ve got this great plan to-,” Richie smirked as he was cut off by the Losers “beeping” him. But Stan looked at Richie, and Richie could have sworn that he saw actual gears working in Stan’s brain.

“Why aren’t you guys riding your bikes?” Stan looked at Eddie, his face blank yet analytical.

“Richie-” Eddie was about to explain the events of their last period, when Richie cut in.

“I can’t ride my bike while it’s in this condition, Stan the man! Besides, my glasses are cracked too. Gotta go so that I can grab my spare before my evening with Mrs. K! I wanna make sure I can see her in all of her glory after all,” Richie raised his eyebrows suggestively, while Eddie rolled his eyes.

“Beep beep, asshole,” Eddie shook his head, while Richie gave his best shit-eating grin.

“Why don’t we all walk you home, Rich? You’re our first stop after all, so we can start riding after you’re safe at home,” Bev suggested with a tender smile. The Losers all agreed unanimously to walk to Richie’s house.

~~~~~~

The Losers chatted along the way, joking and teasing one another, though most of the actual joking and teasing came from Richie himself. The seven of them shoved one another around as they made their way up the streets of Derry.  When they reached Richie’s house, his mood dropped as he looked at the front door. Although, neither of his parents’ cars were home, so he could clean and eat without worrying about disturbing his mom. He was about to make his way up the driveway and to the porch, when Eddie grabbed his hand and stopped him.

“Hey, Rich? Take care of yourself,” Eddie spoke gently, an uncharacteristically sweet but concerned look on his face.

“Of course, Spaghetti Man,” Richie chuckled,  then took back his hand. Richie set his bike against the side of the house, then walked back to the front of the yard. After farewells to the Losers he went inside, eager to eat something and shower. He let out a deep sigh as he shut the door. 

Going into the kitchen, Richie opened the cupboard and nearly burst into tears from how excited he was to see all of the foods he’d requested, though anything would have been better than saltines or olives. Richie grabbed out a Fruit Roll-Up, then made his way to the fridge. He snatched a Hot Pocket, then put it in the microwave. While he waited for his Hot Pocket to cook, he tore open the Fruit Roll-up, quickly eating it. Once his Hot Pocket finished, he let it cool, then dug in. Feeling full and a little happy, Richie cleaned up around the house and fixed up his bike outside, before he went upstairs to shower. In the bathroom, Richie looked in the mirror.

“Wow, I look like shit,” Richie chuckled as he took off his broken glasses and rubbed his eyes. The moment Richie stepped under the hot water, it made his joints and muscles lose all of their tension. He relished in the hot water raining down, washing off the grime (and blood) he’d accumulated in the last two days. By the time Richie was done, the bathroom was practically a sauna from all of the steam. He got dressed and went to his room, clean and ready to do his homework.

After an hour or so, when his homework was completed and he’d made his way back down to the kitchen to get another snack, the front door opened and shut gently, which meant Maggie was home. Wentworth always entered in a fit of rage, slamming the door. Richie was relieved it was his mom, since he was in the middle of making a sandwich in the kitchen. As he spread mayonnaise across the two slices of bread, Maggie walked in. She walked to the fridge, grabbed a bottle of wine, not bothering with a glass.

“Hey, Mom! Thanks for getting all of the food, I…” Richie was thanking his mom, when she walked out of the kitchen without so much as a glance at Richie. “...appreciate it.”

~~~~~

That night, Richie was able to get away with not seeing Wentworth once. Once would be enough to give Richie Hell after all. But that night, Wentworth hadn’t said anything to him. He’d stormed into the house, then did the exact same going into his study without even screaming at Richie. Days like these were bittersweet for Richie. On one hand, he was glad he wasn’t getting his ass handed to him after the day he’d had, but being ignored felt… worse? At least if his dad was beating the shit out of him, Richie knew they still knew he existed. But then again, if he went missing, his mom would be too drunk to care and his dad would spit on his grave. The thought made Richie tear up as he stared at his bed from his desk. If he really did go missing, would they leave his room the same, not bothering to change it?

_ Of course they wouldn’t leave it,  _ a voice inside Richie’s head hissed at him, venomous and sharp.  _ They wouldn’t want any evidence that a faggot like you lived with them. Your mom always wanted a girl. Maybe they could have one if you weren’t in their lives to fuck everything up! No wonder they ignore you or beat you, you’re a mistake! They didn’t want you and they never will! _

The voice was screaming at Richie now, taking over all of his thoughts. He couldn’t get his brain to just be quiet. It wasn’t the first time he’d had the onslaught of harsh words interrupt his mind, but it didn’t stop there this time.

_ The Losers hate you too, you know. You’re not fucking funny, you’re a goddamn waste of space! They just keep you around because they pity you. That shit you pulled all day made them worried. You’re not supposed to burden them like that, they have better things to do. And if they found out you’re a disgusting faggot, you know they’d leave you. If Eddie found out? He’d hate you forever. Well, more than he already does- _

Richie couldn’t handle it anymore. He sobbed, pulling on his black curls, cursing himself as he cried. He had to get his brain to  _ shut up _ . He wiped his eyes and glasses, drying the tears on the lenses, then grabbed a hoodie and his backpack. He needed to get out. So, climbing out his window to the side yard, Richie took in the cool night air. Fuck, what time was it? Didn’t matter anyways, he was just going to the clubhouse. The one place he could escape to without worrying about burdening the other Losers. Normally he’d go to Eddie’s house, but he couldn’t even remember what time it was, and Eddie would ask him what was wrong, and Richie couldn’t answer that question truthfully to Eddie. Not to any of the Losers. It wouldn’t be fair to them.

When Richie reached the entrance to the clubhouse, he leaned his bike against a tree and went inside. He made a beeline towards the hammock and climbed on to it. It was colder and felt emptier without Eddie there reading comics beside him. The hypochondriac usually hated physical touch, especially from Richie, but the hammock was different. Richie loved every second they spent laying silently pressed against one another. Richie didn’t crack any annoying jokes, Eddie didn’t freak out about sharing germs with the trashmouth. They just took in each other’s company. Thinking about those moments while he laid alone in the hammock in the early hours of the morning made him tear up yet again. He blinked them away, before he stared up at the ceiling. Richie just wanted to fall asleep so his brain would stop, but he couldn’t. So Richie stared up at the ceiling until his eyes stung and he heard birds chirping outside, sunlight streaming into the clubhouse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about this chapter, i feel like it's underwhelming. i wasn't super inspired, which is another reason it took me so long. but i'll make it up to you guys :)
> 
> reach me on tumblr @scribble-stars
> 
> check out the fic's playlist, and feel free to suggest any fitting songs!  
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLTmz-r62JUue25ByE0N2NDc3xGi0okj6v


	6. at ease

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, okay, i would like to start off with i am SO SORRY that you guys had to wait almost a month for this chapter. to make up for it, i made this chapter extra long! the reason it took me so long was because i didn't really have an idea of where to take the story, but now that i do, here we are! 
> 
> tw: under-age drinking, vomiting

After a long internal debate, Richie dragged himself to school early that morning, putting on his change of clothes he’d thrown into his backpack. He was thankful he’d been thinking clearly enough then to do so. He climbed out of the clubhouse, before mounting his bike, riding away from the woods.

Careful to not make the same mistake as the day before, Richie kept his eyes on the road, which was surprisingly lacking in cars. Still, he couldn’t afford to break his spares. As he got closer to the school, Richie noticed how empty the whole school was. It was early, but not that early, right? Richie didn’t know. He’d lost all sense of time since he left his room. When he was just reaching the bike racks, close enough to see the primary building, he saw the clock built into the front and read the time. 

_ 7:05 _

Richie was earlier than he’d thought. Well, at least the library was already open. If he was lucky, he’d see Ben and Mike soon. They always spent the mornings in the library. Any other time, Ben wouldn’t be seen without Beverly, but he liked spending his time with his nose in any and every book, while Mike had decided to volunteer as one of the Student Services for the library.  _ Builds character, _ is what he’d said. Richie remembered laughing, and Mike even joined in. Him and Ben were the kindest Losers. They were quiet and kind, but also physically and emotionally strong. Strong in a way that Richie admired to no end. Though, Richie just wanted Ben to make a move on Bev already. Shaking his head with a sigh and small smile to himself at the sheer density of his friends, Richie pushed open the library door carefully and stepped inside. The instant blast of warm air felt like a warm blanket was draped around him. After the cool night in the clubhouse with just his hoodie, Richie welcomed the heated building. He sat down in one of the armchairs in the corner and began reading the next chapter of his assigned book for English class.

“Is that Richie Tozier in a library?” Mike’s voice could be heard from the doorway and Richie started beaming, closing his book. He looked up to see Mike walking behind the library counter, while Ben was approaching Richie with a book in hand.

“Better fucking believe it, Mikey,” Richie beamed, when the librarian shot him a look.

“Hi, Rich,” Ben sat down in the armchair next to Richie and gave him a warm smile.

“What’s up, Haystack?” Richie smiled back, and stuffed his book into his backpack.

“Why’re you here so early?” Ben opened his book, but looked up at Richie.

“Well, Benny boy, I was up with Mrs. K all night, so I didn’t get to sleep. So I came here,” Richie snickered, while Mike and Ben both chuckled a bit, beeping him.

“You definitely look like you didn’t get to sleep,” Mike examined Richie as he walked over with an armful of books to put away on the shelves next to them. Richie stood up and plucked a book out of the stack in Mike’s hands.

“I told you, Mikey, Mrs. K had us going all night long,” Richie shook his head with a sigh, doing a once over of the book, then setting it back in the pile with a shrug. Mike and Ben shared skeptical looks, but neither said anything else in the time that the three hung out in the library, until 7:50, when Mike’s shift ended. They could finally see the other Losers and hang out for the remaining ten minutes before the bell rang to start school. 

“Is that Trashmouth Tozier?” Beverly practically ran up to the three boys, Stan, Bill, and Eddie following close behind her.

“What’s the news, Molly Ringwald?” Richie grinned at Bev, who flipped him off at the nickname. Now complete, the Losers Club laughed and chatted by Richie and Stan’s lockers, which had miraculously ended up next to each other. Stan rolled his eyes anytime Richie made a quip when they saw each other, but there was always the slightest smirk in the corner of his mouth, one that someone would miss if they weren’t looking closely for it. But sometimes he’d even laugh. The times that Stan laughed made Richie’s chest feel just a little bit looser. Like maybe his brain was just lying to him.

“Well, I asked my aunt about it, and she said we could have a sleepover tomorrow! All of us!” Bev was beaming. Richie had to bite back a laugh when he saw Ben’s face light up.

“I don’t know, Bev… I need to make sure Mrs. K is okay with me sleeping with another woman,” Richie sighed, frowning, while the other Losers laughed or beeped him.

“Don’t be fucking gross about Ms. Marsh, asshole,” Eddie said with a shove.

“Aw, Eds, it makes me so happy that you’re finally coming to terms with your mom and I’s relationship,” Richie put a hand over his heart, smirking at Eddie, who shoved him again.

“I did NOT say that, I just said to stop being fucking gross!”

The Losers parted when the bell rang, and the day went by without a hitch. Richie was having a pretty good day, if he did say so himself, which he did. In fact, he wished the school day would’ve lasted longer. He was having such a good time with his friends. Alas, all good things must come to an end. Strangely enough though, that night was tame too. Richie felt oddly at ease, and fell asleep, the voices in his head giving him a rest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Before any of the Losers knew it, it was the highly anticipated sleepover, courtesy of Bev’s aunt. When Richie biked over to Bev’s house, he relished in the cool almost-evening breeze, a little bit thankful he got to ride alone. It was peaceful, considering the week he’d had, and Friday couldn’t have come soon enough. But it did, and here he was, riding his bike down the streets of Derry towards Bev’s aunt’s house. When he reached the front yard, he saw Bev’s bike, along with three others, though there wasn’t a car in the driveway.  Without so much as a knock, Richie swung the door open, a wide, beaming smile on his face and backpack stuffed with snacks over his shoulder.

“Hello, Losers!” Richie shouted as he walked further into the house, shutting the door behind himself.

“Rich! Come on, Stan, BIll, Ben, and I are setting up the living room,” Bev called from the living room, her tone bright. He looked around as he made his way to the living room, examining the decor. Bev’s aunt’s house was smaller, but much warmer, or homey, than the Toziers’. Pictures of the Marsh family lined the hallway walls, picturing a young Beverly and who Richie guessed were her parents. He recognized Alvin Marsh, chills passing through him, then he looked at the woman pictured. Richie knew it couldn’t be her mom. Bev had told all of them that her mom died giving birth to her. Which meant this was Bev’s aunt.

“You coming or what, Trashmouth?” Stan poked his head out of the doorway to the living room and looked at Richie, who jumped a bit.

“Aw, you’re that eager to see me, Stanny?” Richie said as he fluttered his eyelashes at Stan, who rolled his eyes.

“I’m more eager for you to leave in the morning,” Stan shot back, but Richie caught the corners of his lips curling up in the smallest smile. 

With a light chuckle, Richie made his way into the living room where, as claimed, Bev, Ben, Stan, and Bill had begun to set up where they’d all sleep for the night. Ben and Bill had moved the couch and coffee table so that the Losers had a spot in front of the television. Piles and piles of blankets were strewn about, while there were a number of pillows nearby as well.

“So, where’s the Spaghetti Man and Mikey?” Richie plopped down on the couch, his backpack jostling with him.

“M-Mike called a h-half hour a-ago,” Bill said, glancing at Richie. “He sh-should b-be here soon.”

“Eddie is trying to convince his mom to let him come,” Ben spoke up, setting down his book. Just then, there was a sharp knock on the door

“It’s open!” Bev shouted, squealing as Richie threw a pillow at her. The sound of the door opening and closing filled the house, before the rattling of pills could be heard and a shit eating grin crept its way onto Richie’s face. He grabbed a pillow, sneaking to the doorway into the living room, before Eddie turned to walk in.

“It’s over, Eddie Spaghetti!” Richie hollered as he began to hit Eddie, gently but fast, with the pillow.

“What the fuck?! Richie-” Eddie tried to shield his face, but it didn’t matter. Richie practically tackled Eddie to the carpeted floor, pinning him down at his wrists.

“Say  adiós, Señor Eduardo!” Richie chuckled, holding Eddie down as he used his Pancho Vanilla voice. The others stifled laughs as they watched, but all gasped, impressed, when Eddie flipped them around somewhat easily. Now it was his turn to pin Richie down, which didn’t require much effort. Eddie was panting, trying to catch his breath as he held himself triumphantly over Richie, laughed. Meanwhile, Richie tried to keep his fear invisible to the Losers. His current situation reminded him too much of his dad gripping his wrists as he beat him.

“H-ha! Take that, asshole,” Eddie looked down at Richie, feeling more than victorious, even though it was hardly a challenge to hold down the lankier boy. Richie struggled beneath him, trying to catch his own breath.

“Y’know, Eds, I usually save this kinda stuff for your mom. She might be jealous if I tell her we hit it off,” Richie said with a smirk, and Eddie got up off of him, glaring.

“Beep beep, Richie,” all of the present Losers chimed in, with almost a sing-song tone. 

~~~~~~~~

Before long, Mike showed up, and the Losers sat in a sort-of-circle on the floor, sharing snacks as they talked and joked, trying to decide what to do.

“W-we could w-w-watch a movie? Or p-p-play a g-game, like truth o-or dare,” Bill looked around the circle, when Bev’s eyes lit up.

“We have to play truth or dare!” She declared, nearly bouncing. Eddie looked unsure, while the rest of the Losers shrugged, grinning, not caring too much. Richie felt his stomach become uneasy, but he wouldn’t let it show.

“Alright then, Molly Ringwald, you get to start. Truth or dare?” Richie looked at her, and without skipping a beat she said-

“Dare.”

“Always bold, Marsh… I dare you to kiss one of us. On the lips,” Richie popped the p, smirking. Ben turned red, while Eddie shot Richie a look. Bill and Mike shrugged, and Stan’s expression remained stoic as usual.

“Okay, fine, Tozier,” Bev looked around the circle, before her eyes settled on Ben to her left. She leaned in and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. Ben was as red as a tomato when Bev moved away, the slightest bit of flush visible on her own cheeks. They played, going around the circle, until every Loser had gone at least once, until it was back to Richie.

“Truth or dare, Trashmouth,” Bev challenged.

“I’ll have to choose dare, my dearest Beverly,” Richie grinned from ear to ear, bringing his arms up to shield himself as she chucked a pillow at him.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Bev got up and went to the kitchen, quickly opening and closing a cabinet. When she returned to the circle, she had a familiar bottle of russet colored liquid and a small shot glass. Richie felt his stomach drop to his feet. His dad had the same bottle in his liquor cabinet. Eddie looked at the bottle, uneasy.

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Bev?” Eddie furrowed his eyebrows, looking between Bev, the bottle, and Richie. Richie swallowed hard and put on a grin.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, Spaghetti. Sometimes, when we need things to be interesting, your mom and I-” Richie couldn’t finish, before Eddie threw a pillow at him, all visible concern gone.

“Okay, Richie… I dare you to take a shot for every girl you’ve kissed,” Bev shrugged, confident the number would be maybe one. Richie picked up the glass, when Stan spoke up.

“Richie, you can put down the glass,” Stan spoke cooly, and the most subtly smug expression was on his face. The room erupted into laughter, while Richie stared at the bottle, uncharacteristically quiet. He picked it up and poured a shot.

“Maria Waller,” He muttered as the other Losers began to quiet down. He took the shot, the liquor burning his throat as it went down. He spoke one more name, taking the shot, before he set down the glass.

“H-Holy shit, R-Rich! I-I didn’t think y-y-you’d actually do i-it,” Bill looked at him, shocked. Stan had a frown on his face. Richie didn’t take the time to look at the other Losers, before he stood up and rushed to the bathroom. He didn’t bother closing the door as he dove to reach the toilet, heaving into it.

Richie felt a hand on his back as he lost the contents of his stomach. Once he was certain he was done spewing, he leaned against the toilet, closing his eyes while the hand rubbed in circles on his back.

“Sorry, Rich,” Bev’s apologetic tone broke through the silence of the bathroom. He hummed a quiet response, then opened his eyes, pushing himself to his feet. He flushed the toilet, watching as everything he’d eaten since lunch swirled into the pipes. Almost making him vomit again, Richie looked away from the toilet and went to the sink, rinsing his mouth and hands. When he was ready, Richie and Bev made their way back to the living room, where the rest of the Losers sat quietly, a movie ready. Eddie and Stan had ibuprofen and a glass of water waiting for him.

“Thanks,” Richie croaked, his throat still raw from the burning of the alcohol and then the vomiting.

~~~~~~~

They all settled for the night, buried in blankets and sleeping bags as they watched movies. Eddie had refused to sit on the floor, and Bev decided Richie would sleep up there too, to apologize for the dare.

Eddie sat up, less than a cushion between them. At first, Richie had tried to sit up, give Eddie space, not bother him anymore than he usually did. But halfway through the second movie, he was leaned into Eddie, his head resting against the side of the smaller boy’s as he fell asleep. Eddie hadn’t noticed, until he felt Richie ease into him, his chest steadily rising and falling. Eddie smiled to himself, turning red. When the others noticed, small smiles of their own crept onto their faces, even Stan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the sleepover had a rough start, but it seems Rich is finally catching a break :)
> 
> thank you guys so much for your kudos, comments, and bookmarks! the comments mean the world to me and make my day! and thank you all for waiting so patiently for this chapter! i promise the next one won't take nearly as long. i still haven't figured out a posting schedule. also, please let me know in the comments, would you prefer even longer chapters? i've tried dividing them in the past so they're not too much, but if you guys prefer these longer ones, i'll keep doing these 2000+ ones
> 
> reach me on tumblr @scribble-stars
> 
> check out the fic's playlist, and feel free to suggest any fitting songs!  
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLTmz-r62JUue25ByE0N2NDc3xGi0okj6v


	7. a well-deserved rest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the Losers have a peaceful day at the clubhouse and Richie takes a much needed nap, while Eddie and Stan begin to devise a plan to help their friend
> 
> no tw for this chapter, so you guys know that Rich and the others are getting a break.

In the morning, Richie woke up with a small headache, and a notable lack of vision, which meant his glasses were somewhere else. He didn’t remember taking them off… but whatever. He got a bearing of his surroundings and realized he was lying against someone, an arm draped over him. But then he realized who he was lying with. Eddie. Shit. Richie, flushed red, carefully got out from under his arm and reached over to the bedside table, grabbing his glasses. He pushed them onto his face and looked around. Everyone else’s spots were empty, and that’s when Richie noticed that there was chatter and the sound of sizzling coming from the kitchen. His stomach grumbled when he finally smelled what they were making. He had considered, for a split second, leaving him asleep, he was adorable. But he looked over at Eddie and poked his cheek. One poke wasn’t enough though. Richie began to poke both cheeks at the same time, repeatedly.

“Eddie Spaghetti! It’s time to rise and shine!” His voice was loud and sing-songy for whatever time it was, and Eddie recognized this.

“Shut the fuck up, Richie. It’s too early,” Eddie grumbled, trying to push RIchie, his eyes still closed.

“Aw, Eds, that’s mean. Your mom is much more lovely in the mornings,” Richie stuck out a tongue, crossing his arms over his chest. Eddie sat up at this and punched Richie in the arm.

“Beep-Beep, asshole!”

“Language, boys,” A kind but firm voice came from the kitchen. Bev’s aunt had to be home. That’s probably why all the other Losers were up and in the kitchen, where there was the obvious sound of breakfast being made.

“Sorry, Ms. Marsh!” Richie called back with a grin and got to his feet, offering Eddie a hand to help him up. Eddie rolled his eyes and got up on his own, and the two made their way into the kitchen.

“Good morning, sleeping beauties,” Bev teased, snickering as the boys entered the room. They sat at the table, Richie sitting between Eddie and Stan. Bev’s aunt gave them both plates filled with food, then went back to the stove, cooking up more pancakes for seven hungry teenagers.

“S-So, how’re yuh-you feeling, R-R-Rich?” Bill looked up at Richie as he stabbed his fork through a piece of egg and shoveled it into his mouth. Right, last night. That happened.

“I’m fine. Absolutely splendid, Big Bill,” Richie dug into his own pancakes, eggs, and bacon. He finished his first plateful, but just as he did, another steaming pancake was set in front of him.

“You’re too skinny, Richie dear. We need to get something in you before you’re just skin and bones!” Ms. Marsh ruffled his hair affectionately, then went back to cooking.

Richie felt his face heat up as he stared down at his plate, suddenly not very hungry. He cleared his throat and quietly excused himself to the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, he pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, before perching the glasses back on his nose. He took a good look in the mirror, really  _ looking  _ at himself. He wasn’t as pale as he was the night before after their little game of truth and dare, but Richie realized just how shitty he actually appeared. His hair was a mess, he had bags under his eyes, and the fluorescent lights of the bathroom were not helping to conceal just how pronounced his cheek bones or jaw were starting to become.

_ Didn’t realize I looked  _ this  _ bad. No wonder everyone keeps giving me looks. _

Richie spent a moment fixing his hair, before splashing some cool water on his face to wake himself up. Taking a deep breath, Richie braced himself to go back out there. What if Ms. Marsh thought he was ungrateful for not eating his other pancake?

_ I should get back out there. Just finish it. Besides, who knows how long it’ll be until you have another good meal like this? Don’t be fucking spoiled. This is why Went hits you. You deserve it, and don’t forget that. _

With a final glare at himself, Richie turned around and left the bathroom, going back to the table where the rest of the Losers sat, though Stan was helping Ms. Marsh do the dishes. Of course he was. Stan the Man, always a responsible helper. That’s why all of the Losers’ parents (or guardians) loved Stan. Quiet, polite, helpful. The opposite of Richie. The Losers would never say it, but Richie knew that their parents and guardians hated him. Though, Sonia made her hatred clear on her own, no need for Eddie to relay that information. The Denbrough’s were nice to Richie. So was Ms. Marsh, of course. The rest of the Losers’ parents were polite, but Richie knew they didn’t really like him. Did the Losers even like him? Maybe they were just being polite too. Maybe-

“...Richie?” Eddie looked at Richie next to him, his eyebrows furrowed. “Did you hear any of that?”

“Sorry, Eddie Spaghetti, I was busy thinking about what I’m doing tonight with your mom. What’s up?” Richie smirked, while the Loser beeped him. Ms. Marsh shook her head with a small smile.

“Ugh, gross. I said we’re packing some snacks and lunch before we go to hangout at the clubhouse for the day. Will your parents be cool with that?” Eddie looked back at Richie, who laughed a bit at the question.

“Yeah, Eds. I don’t think they’ll have any problem with what I do,” Richie rolled his eyes with a small smirk. Stan raised an eyebrow from the sink, looking back at his best friend.

“Alright, then you kids get your things together and I’ll start on sandwiches. How’s turkey and cheese?” Bev’s aunt looked at the seven teens in front of her. 

They all gave confirmation and went to get their stuff together. It didn’t take them long. They’d all mostly brought snacks and clothes, so they spent less than five minutes gathering their belongings, before they returned to the kitchen to get more snacks to go along with their sandwiches. Mike and Stan joined Bev’s aunt to finish up the sandwiches, putting each in a plastic bag before they were put (with care) into Mike’s backpack.

“We don’t mind taking our own grub, Mikey. You already do enough work for Gramps Hanlon,” Richie watched as Mike slung his backpack over his shoulder and flashed Richie a warm smile. He walked up to Richie and patted him on the back gently.

“Don’t worry about me, Rich. Always happy to help,” Mike reassured Richie, and soon they were all on their bikes, headed to the clubhouse.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once they’d reached the clubhouse, the Losers fell into a comfortable silence, mostly doing their own things, just like they’d do any other day at the clubhouse. But Richie couldn’t stop feeling eyes on him. He knew all of the Losers were a bit… concerned after what happened the night before, but he was fine! They didn’t need to keep worrying.

Richie sighed and pressed closer to Eddie’s side while they laid in the hammock together, a common occurrence for the best friends. Richie glanced at Eddie’s face, which was scrunched in concentration as he read a new comic book he’d just gotten. Richie stifled a small chuckle when he noticed how Eddie mouthed what the comic said as he was reading.

_ Cute, cute, cute. _

He closed his eyes, content to lay there with Eddie all day. Thankfully, that was the plan. He didn’t know when it happened, but Richie noticed the presence of an arm around his shoulder. Eddie. Heat rose in Richie’s cheeks, but that didn’t stop him from leaning more into the smaller boy. Before he knew it, Richie was drifting off. He didn’t understand why he slept so much easier with Eddie next to him, but he wasn’t about to complain. He could finally let himself rest. Maybe the nightmares would go away if Eddie was close enough. They seemed to last night. Eddie. His knight in shining short shorts. Richie smiled before he finally fell asleep.

Eddie glanced down and saw Richie fast asleep curled into his side. He smiled and closed his comic, opting to cuddle up with the lankier boy. As Eddie was getting comfortable, he felt something press into his side. He glanced at the offending area, and it was… Richie? Well, not directly, but it was definitely him. Eddie could feel that it was one of Richie’s hip bones.  _ Shit _ . He shouldn’t be able to feel Richie’s bones  _ through his jeans _ .

Eddie looked up and made eye contact with Stan, who had been reading a bird encyclopedia. Stan noticed the distress on Eddie’s face and his own eyebrows turned down.

_ What’s wrong?  _ Stan mouthed, and Eddie shook his head lightly.

_ I can feel his  _ _ bones _ _ ,  _ Eddie mouths rather emphatically. Stan’s face scrunched up more. He sighed and pinched the skin between his eyebrows, shutting his book. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. The rest of the Losers looked between both of them, Beverly raising an eyebrow at Eddie. He sighed and leaned back into the hammock with Richie, whose chest rose and fell with each breath.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Richie woke up, he felt Eddie's head leaning against the top of his own and he smiled. Eddie looked down and noticed Richie was awake, then brushed his hair away from his eyes. Richie felt himself go red again, looking away from Eddie.

“Look who finally woke up,” Beverly smirked, looking at the boys in the hammock. “You two hungry?”

“I could eat,” Richie shrugged with his own smirk and got up with Eddie. They joined the rest of the Losers on the floor and pulled his snacks out of his backpack while Mike handed out their sandwiches.

The seven best friends ate together and laughed, Richie never allowing for there to be a dull moment while they all hung out. All the while, Stan and Eddie kept exchanging looks, having a silent conversation, which didn’t take long for Bill to catch on to. But he knew he had to wait to bring it up. So, the seven had their perfect afternoon in the clubhouse, eating and laughing together, just being teenagers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for taking so long to update, but i appreciate you all for staying with me and continuing to read! your comments makes this worthwhile! i love reading how much you guys enjoy my story. thank you again!
> 
> reach me on tumblr @scribble-stars :)
> 
> check out the fic's playlist, and feel free to comment any songs you think fit!
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLTmz-r62JUue25ByE0N2NDc3xGi0okj6v


	8. the peace is cut to pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! i know i said i don’t have a posting schedule, but expect updates once a month, and i’ll try and update more often than that? sorry that i’m so inconsistent! you guys have been super supportive and your comments are the best! thank you all for reading and being patient with me <3
> 
> a note: in the middle of the chapter, i wrote that the Losers were having a conversation on their home phones, which wouldn’t work in real life unless it was on an smartphone. please try to ignore the inaccuracy, i just hadn’t realized it wasn’t something that would be possible at the time until i had finished the chapter, and i couldn’t find it in myself to change it
> 
> tw this chapter: child abuse, gay slurs, description of injuries, alcoholism/alcohol abuse

Too soon for any of their likings, the Losers had to go home. Well, Eddie did, but the rest of the Losers decided they’d go with him. Besides, Richie knew being at the clubhouse wasn’t really worth it if he had to lay in the hammock by himself. It was too cold. Reminded him too much of that night. As the Losers made their way through the woods, back towards the streets, Richie walked next to Bev. Behind them, he glanced back and saw Stan and Eddie talking in a hushed conversation. Eddie’s eyebrows kept contorting while they talked, Stan’s expression still stoic, but he looked more agitated than usual. Richie considered making a joke, falling back to interrupt whatever it was they were talking about, but he knew better than that. So, with a sigh, he looked ahead as he dragged his bike beside him.

“What’re you thinking about, Rich?” Bev looked at Richie, a soft smile on her face and her eyes full of understanding, even though he hadn’t said a word. 

_Witch,_ Richie thought to himself.

“He can’t think, Beverly. He doesn’t have a brain,” Stan called from behind them and Bev threw her head back laughing, nearly sending herself to the ground with her bike.

“We-we all know th-that much, S-S-Stan,” Bill rolled his eyes with a smirk.

“You wound me! Big Bill, Stan the Man, I thought you were better than this!” Richie clapped one hand to his heart, using the other to keep his bike from toppling over.

The other Losers laughed too. When Richie glanced back and saw Eddie laughing, the brightest smile on his face, nothing else mattered. Richie decided he wanted to make Eddie laugh for a living. For the rest of his life, that’s all he wanted to do. But he knew he couldn’t. What would the rest of the Losers think of him? What would _Eddie_ think of him? He’d only confirm what his dad and bullies had been saying to him his whole life. Would the Losers even like him still? Probably not. Why would they want someone annoying for a friend? Richie was left to overthink in silence as they all walked. It was a comfortable silence to the rest of the Losers, but Richie felt like he was suffocating on it. Like the air was tangible and had wrapped it’s fingers around Richie’s throat. He had to say something. To get the fingers off his throat

“Man, Eds, I’m sad that our time at the clubhouse is ended, but I’m _thrilled_ to see your lovely mother tonight,” Richie smirked, snickering as the others groaned.

“Buh-Beep beep, R-Rich,” Bill rolled his eyes. Bev punched him in the arm, but Richie kept beaming as the others groaned.

“That’s so gross, asshole!” Eddie squealed, glaring at Richie. 

They fell back into comfortable conversation, until they reached Eddie’s house. Richie walked Eddie to his front door, Beverly holding his bike at the sidewalk.

“Good night, Eds,” Richie smiled, patting Eddie on the back. 

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Don’t call me that, Trashmouth. But have a goodnight.” There was a smile on his face as he said it.

Eddie walked inside and shut the door behind him, leaving Richie staring at the spot where he once stood. He didn’t know how long he stood there, but Richie finally snapped out of it when Stan shouted for him from the sidewalk. Richie sighed and went back to the rest of the Losers, taking his bike from Beverly. They all got on their bikes, riding in the middle of the street without a care. 

~~~~~~

Richie wasn’t ready to step into his house. He’d stood in front of the door for a few minutes since the Losers left, not at all ready to face his parents. Both of their cars were in the driveway, and he could hear shouting from inside the house. So either his dad was drunk and she wasn’t, or they were both drunk. The screaming matches didn’t usually happen unless it was one of those two scenarios. But, at least if it was the latter, they would both be too distracted to notice him creep upstairs to his room. So, he took a breath to brace himself, then opened the door as quietly as he possibly could. 

Richie was surprisingly successful… until he reached the stairs. He’d made it to the steps, his hand was on the banister, when he felt a strong hand grab his backpack and yanked him back, throwing him to the ground.

“Where have you _been_ , you useless fucking-“ Wentworth screamed at Richie, when Maggie screamed and ran over to them.

“Don’t hurt my Rosemary, Wentworth!” Maggie pounded on Wentworth’s back with closed fists as Wentworth began to beat Richie into the floor, but it was useless. She was too drunk and the guts were to weak to make a difference.

_Ah, so they’re_ both _drunk. Figured,_ Richie thought to himself as he clenched his teeth together. In a moment of quick thinking, he threw his glasses to the side, watching them slide under the dresser right by the door while Maggie had momentarily gotten Wentworth’s attention.

But it wasn’t long enough for Richie to recover and brace himself for his father. No, because when Went started hounding on him, Richie _couldn’t_ be ready. It’s not like he hadn’t beaten Richie like this before, but he was already so tired and he’d finally had a good day with Eddie… and the other Losers. So, when Richie felt Wentworth beat him without hesitation and his ears rung, he couldn’t stop himself from crying. Why couldn’t he just be _good?_ What could he do to make his parents love him? What was he doing _wrong_?

“Stop fucking crying, you _faggot_ . Be a _man! It’s all your fault I’m doing this! If you weren’t a fucking worthless piece of shit!”_ Wentworth screamed at Richie as he kicked and kicked and kicked. Richie hardly heard him anyways. He curled in on himself, wrapping his arms around his ribs, which were yet to get a break from the constant abuse.

_It’s not abuse,_ Richie scolded himself internally. He deserved this. His dad was just putting him in his place, like he should. Richie felt himself slipping into unconsciousness, when he heard a high voice past the ringing in his ears after the kicking stopped.

“Oh, my poor _baby,_ Rosemary!” Richie didn’t open his eyes when he heard his mom. She was still in denial. Fourteen long years later, and his mother still called him “her little Rosemary” on the days that she did pay him any attention. Maybe that’s why his father had to put himself in his place so often. He was just an unruly boy, not the perfect daughter they wanted. Maybe…

_You’re a boy, Richie. You can’t change the fact that you fucked up their lives forever. It’s too late for that. You’re not ever going to be good enough! You never have been and you never will be as long as you live!_

Richie let the voices in his head go on until he finally fell asleep. But he wasn’t out for long, because he woke up after Wentworth slammed the door to his study. Well, at least he’d gotten a wake up call and he could get to his room. After Richie put on his glasses, he grabbed his backpack and practically dragged himself up the stairs, crawling up one step at a time. When he reached the top, he got to shaky feet and walked down the hallway to his room. Once inside, Richie shut the door, locking it, and set down his backpack and climbed into bed without taking off any of his clothes. He was too tired or sore to bother. So, he fell asleep, laying limp in his bed.

~~~~~~

In the Kaspbrak, Uris, Hanlon, Marsh, Hanscom, and Denbrough homes, respectively, six teenagers sat at their telephones, talking in hushed voices in case of snooping parents.

“Suh-something’s up w-with R-R-Richie,” Bill sighed into the phone, while Bev, Ben, Eddie and Mike made quiet agreements. Stan remained silent.

“But what could it _be_?” Eddie groaned, nearly pulling out his hair with his free hand out of frustration. 

“He didn’t start acting weird until this week,” Mike pointed out, his own face screwed with concern, though it wasn’t as if they could see each other.

“Though, whatever it is could have started a while ago. You guys know how he is. He hates people worrying over him,” Bev spoke in a calm voice, her face set in an expression that was a mix of concern and determination to help her friend. Ever since she’d met the Losers, Richie had never hesitated to help and support her, but he also didn’t hold back. He treated her like one of the guys, never excluding her because she was a girl.

“Exactly. But that also means he’s not about to open up to us,” Stan said quickly, his own eyebrows furrowed in frustration and thought.

“What can we do to get him to open up so we can help him?” Ben bit his lip as he added his own two cents. 

“How about we all go to his house tomorrow? He always sleeps in on Sundays before he goes to the arcade. If he’s already gone, then we know where to find him!” Eddie exclaimed, hardly having to think about his best friend’s schedule to know where he’d be the next day.

“A-Alright then, it’s s-suh-settled. We’ll g-g-go to Richie’s h-house tomorrow and h-help o-o-our favorite T-T-Trashmouth out,” Bill declared, and the rest of the Losers could practically hear the ~~stubbornness~~ determination. They knew he was making the same face he always made when he had set his mind to something.

The six best friends wished each other goodnight and hung up, hoping to make progress on helping their friend the next day. As Eddie hung up and got ready for bed, he couldn’t stop asking himself if he should go climb into Richie’s window. But he ultimately decided against it. He would wait for the other Losers.

~~~~~~

When Richie woke up again, it was dark out, the only light in his room being the streetlights and moonlight filtering through his window. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, before placing the frames back on the bridge of his nose. He glanced around and took in his surroundings, before he stood up. He took off his shoes and grabbed pajamas, before he silently made his way to the bathroom. 

Richie closed and locked the bathroom door behind him, then turned to look in the mirror. He faintly chuckled at the familiarity of the situation, though he abruptly stopped when his chest started screaming in protest. He pulled up his shirt to look at his chest, and cringed at what he saw. Bruises of varying shapes and sizes were blossoming up and down his abdomen, though there were the most on his ribs, which was no surprise to Richie by then. It seemed Went knew where it would make him feel it the most but would be the easiest to hide. After all, why should his dad get in trouble anyways? He was just _helping_ Richie. He wasn’t abusing him. It wasn’t like Eddie’s mom, or Bev’s dad! Richie _deserved_ it. He knew he did. He deserved it for disappointing his mom, for fucking up everything his dad asked of him, for being a… a _fairy_. Tears welled in his eyes, and he was taking off his glasses to wipe his eyes again. But he couldn’t stop the tears, so he just silently cried it out, the sobs wracking his body while he tried to stay near silent through the pain.

When he was done and had composed himself enough to clean himself up, he changed into his pajamas and cleaned his face. It was refreshing, but his body was still screaming at him, so he resigned back to his bedroom for the night. For once, his loud thoughts didn’t keep him from sleep. It seemed both his body and mind were too tired to keep him awake any longer than they absolutely had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! i’ve decided that in these later chapters, i’m going to go deeper into the effects that child abuse can have on the victims. in Richie’s case, i’ve implied that he’s lived this way for nearly his entire life, so he doesn’t know any better, so he’s basically in denial that he’s being abused, which will pose to be an issue in the coming chapters when the Losers try to help him. he knows that he shouldn’t be treated this way, but he believes he’s being treated the way he is by Went because of his own doing, and if he were “good enough” then he wouldn’t have to be hit. Went, obviously, acts as the abuser, while Maggie is the enabler. while she doesn’t encourage the abuse, she makes no real effort to stop it, and she only ever does when he sees Richie as “Rosemary,” her “little girl“
> 
> reach me on tumblr @scribble-stars
> 
> check out the fic’s playlist and recommend some fitting songs in the comments :-)
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLTmz-r62JUue25ByE0N2NDc3xGi0okj6v


	9. sign of the times

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i took the title from the harry styles song, because i feel like the lyrics fit the story 😳
> 
> anyways, i was feeling super inspired, so i wrote this chapter all of yesterday and this morning because i wanted to get it to you guys ASAP! i think that the story is going to have at least three more chapters, possibly four if i do an epilogue, which is the plan at this point.
> 
> tw: description of injuries, implied/referenced child abuse, panic attack(s)

When Richie blinked his eyes open, he looked at the alarm clock on his bedside table and read the time, squinting to see without his glasses.

_ 6:13 A.M. _

He groaned and sat up, grabbing his glasses from the same bedside table. He got up slowly, his abdomen in searing hot pain with every movement. He needed to shower before he went to the arcade. He tried to make it to his closet to grab clothes for the day, but his body kept screaming at him to just lay back down so the pain would stop. So, instead of protesting, Richie listened. He chose his clothes and set them on his bedside table, before laying back down in bed, falling asleep with his glasses rested on his nose.

~~~~~~

“What if he doesn’t listen to us, Stan? What if he doesn’t let us help him and he gets worse and worse?” Eddie has been rambling on and on to Stan over the phone, until Stan cut him off.

“Eddie, we’ll make him hear us out. He needs help, and we’ll give it to him. Don’t worry,” Stan, composed as ever, spoke without a waver in his voice, but inside he was terrified. On the other side of the phone, Stan was practically shaking. He was worried as everyone else, and he felt useless to do anything. 

_ What was happening to Richie?  _ The question of the century, it seemed, to the Losers recently. Ever since the bike thing, Richie hadn’t been himself. But it could’ve been happening for a long time, and none of the Losers knew what  _ it  _ even was! 

“What time is it?” Eddie asked, glancing around at his surroundings, before he realized he had a watch. “Okay, okay. It's 9:45, which means we have 15 minutes before we meet the rest of the Losers.”

“It’s all going to be okay, Eddie. We’re gonna help him.”

Stan sighed and abruptly hung up the phone. He knew he’d lose all of his composure if he stayed on the phone any longer.

Stan just wanted to help Richie. He wanted everything to be better so that his best friend could go back to making awful jokes or exhausting them all with his humor at the most inappropriate times. Thinking about how Richie was acting as of late, Stan started to break down in his hallway. He missed Richie. He was tired of not knowing how to help his best friend be his joking, stupid, outgoing self again. At least, in the way he was before. Richie still acted like his joking self, but every one of the Losers knew that something was up with their beloved Trashmouth. Stan faintly registered his mother’s hand on his back, rubbing while he just let out everything he’d been holding in without realizing. 

He pulled himself together after a few minutes, retreating to the bathroom rather than talk to his mom about what had just happened. He splashed his face with cold water and straightened out his hair, before going out to the kitchen. Only ten more minutes until he had to meet with the rest of the Losers. He grabbed a snack, threw it into his backpack with water, then checked back into the bathroom for a quick moment to make sure he didn’t look like he’d been crying. Once he was sure he looked okay, Stan left, going on his bike towards Richie’s street.

~~~~~~

“We’re gonna help him.”

_ Click. _

Eddie groaned in frustration when Stan hung up on him, before slamming his own phone down on the receiver.

“Eddie-Bear? What was that?” His mom called from the living room, and Eddie quietly groaned again. He didn’t have time to deal with his mother.

“Sorry, Mommy! I accidentally set the phone down too hard after I was done talking to Stan!” Eddie said, hoping that it would be enough. Thankfully, it seemed to be.

“Okay, Eddie-Bear! Just be careful! I don’t want you hurting yourself!” His mom responded, and Eddie breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

He went upstairs and checked in his backpack for everything he’d packed the night before, after the call with the Losers. He already had his first aid kit and other medical supplies in his fanny packs, but he made sure to have extra in his backpack. Alongside the medical things were snacks, water, and a few of Richie’s favorite comics of Eddie’s collection. If he knew his best friend, he knew that he would want familiar things to comfort him.

_ Maybe I should grab those mixtapes he made me? Hopefully his Walkman is nearby, _ Eddie thought, knitting his eyebrows together as he went through what he was doing and bringing. 

He eventually decided he was ready enough, and went back downstairs. He looked at the phone, considering calling another one of the Losers, just to make sure they were doing the right thing and the right way- But he knew it’d be fine. Stan said so. Gathering his thoughts and his things, after telling his mom he was going to Stan’s, Eddie walked out his own front door five minutes before the Losers’ scheduled meeting time and rode his bike towards Richie’s house.

~~~~~~

Beverly bit her lip as she paced back and forth in her room. She knew her aunt kept poking her head in to make sure she was alright, but Bev didn’t really mind. What was there to mind? She had bigger things to worry about. How was she supposed to help Richie? She knew something had been wrong for the past week or so, despite what he kept trying to convince the Losers. Though, Beverly knew, even before then. She seemed to always know when there was something bothering any of the Losers. But she couldn’t figure out what was wrong with Richie. He always joked that he was stupid, but Bev and the rest of the Losers knew that he was smart. But since he was smart, he knew how to hide what he needed to so that he didn’t burden anyone else.

_ I just want to know what I can say and do to help him,  _ Beverly repeatedly thought, over and over to herself as she paced. As she finished pacing for the umpteenth time, she glanced at her clock and saw the time.

_ 9:15 A.M. _

There was still too much time between then and when she could go see Richie. But the Losers had promised each other that they would all confront Richie together. Beverly knew that Richie would hate it. He hated attention, he hated being worried about, he hated when things were serious. Would he resent the Losers for trying to help him? Beverly couldn’t get it out of her head. Eventually though, she calmed herself down enough to ask her aunt to take her to town to stop by the store for something she knew would help their confrontation. 

When she got home, she packed her backpack, ate a quick bite, then left her house, mounting her bike ten minutes before they were supposed to meet.

~~~~~~

Bill Denbrough sat at his kitchen table, looking down at his notebook as he tried to clear his head and practice what he was going to say. He glanced at the clock.

_ 9:27 A.M. _

“Billy? What’re you doing?” Georgie’s voice came from the kitchen doorway. He looked at his brother, confused as to why he was staring so intently at a notebook.

“N-N-Nothing, G-Georgie. Just s-some homework,” Bill shrugged, looking back down at his notebook. After rereading a few times, Bill decided it was what he wanted to say, so now he just had to practice it. He had to get it down so that he didn’t mess it up. At least if he had something practiced, he had a lower chance of losing his temper. Not at Richie, but at whoever or whatever the fuck was making him act so…  _ not Richie. _

“But it’s the weekend,” Georgie said as he opened the fridge and examined its contents, before settling on a juice box.

“I-I-I just want to g-get it d-d-done before school t-to-tomorrow so that I-I’m ahead,” Bill shrugged as he read the paper over and over again. Georgie plopped down at the table, sitting across from Bill. Bill couldn’t help but feel bad for lying to Georgie, but he knew that if he told him something was wrong with Richie, he’d freak out and beg Bill to take him. Georgie had always liked Richie the best out of the other Losers.

“W-Well, I’m going to-to take a buh-break and go hang out with th-the Losers,” Bill stood up and ruffled Georgie’s hair, which caused the younger boy to laugh.

Grabbing his backpack, Bill folded the paper and put it in his pocket, before he walked out the front door, shouting a goodbye to his family, promising to be back soon. Bill got on his bike and left his house fifteen minutes before the Losers decided to meet up.

~~~~~~

Ben glanced at the clock in his entryway as he made his way to the phone in his hallway. He dialed Mike’s number, still watching the clock as he listened to Mike’s phone ring.

_ 9:03 A.M. _

Mike Hanlon and Ben Hanscom sat at their phones, talking to each other as they prepared to leave and meet with the other Losers. Their houses were the furthest from Richie’s, though Mike’s was the farthest by a longshot.

The two Losers knew from the day at lunch that something was wrong with Richie. At first, the other Losers, including themselves, had credited it to him nearly being run over, but Ben and Mike had talked the next morning as they made their way into the library. Of course, seeing Richie there without any reason had set them off further.

“What do you think it could be?” Ben asked Mike quietly as he put a blanket and tupperware of cookies into his backpack. He knew how much Richie loved his mom’s cookies.

“I’m not sure, Ben. But we have to be ready for anything,” Mike said, his voice and strong but kind. Ben nodded, before realizing Mike couldn’t see him over the phone.

“Yeah, yeah. I just hope we can figure out what it is,”

Ben sighed as he zipped up his backpack. They hung up and finished gathering what they needed, and each left their houses thirty minutes before the Losers were supposed to meet.

~~~~~~

_ 9:47 A.M. _

Richie groaned when he saw the time on his alarm clock, but he knew he had to get up. He grabbed the clothes off his bedside table and made his way to the bathroom. He quickly checked to see if his parents were home, glancing out the window to check the driveway, and was relieved to see that both of their cars were gone.

Richie walked into the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror, cringing at the injuries he could see. Though, he had to chuckle lightly at the shiner his dad had given him. It felt like it was a monotonous cycle. Go to school or hang out with the Losers, come home get the shit beaten out of him, then go to the bathroom to clean up. Rinse and repeat. That was Richie’s whole life. Holy fucking shit. He laughed again, until his whole body ached from the pain. So, he took that as his cue to turn on the shower. He got under the shower head and let the hot water run down his near-skeletal figure. 

He wasn’t sure how long he showered for, but when he was done, he dried off and got dressed, before going downstairs. He found pain relievers in one of the kitchen cupboards, then poured himself a cup of water to take it with. He took a glance at the clock on the oven.

_ 10:09 A.M. _

It wasn’t as early as he’d hoped to get going to the arcade, but it wasn’t late either, so he’d take it. However, as Richie drank the remainder of his water after swallowing the pills, he heard a steady and quick knock at the door and nearly choked on said water. Who could it be? Fuck, he wasn’t expecting anyone. He hadn’t covered up. He hurriedly threw on one of his dad’s old sweatshirts and went to answer the door. 

When he looked through the peephole and saw the Losers, he nearly vomited. He took deep breaths, rubbing his eyes to try and keep himself from crying, before he opened the door. 

“Why, I can't believe you, Eddie Spaghetti! I know you’re in love with me, but coming to my house to see me is a bit forward isn’t it?” Richie chuckled, a bright smile on his face. He ignored every pang of pain that he felt, trying so hard to keep up the act, but Beverly stepped forward. Her eyes were sad, and Richie hated himself for it. He hated that Beverly looked so sad because of him.

“Rich, you’ve gotta tell us what’s wrong,” She spoke gently and cupped Richie’s face with both of her hands. Richie flinched when she moved forwards towards him, but he didn’t stop her from doing so. He felt tears well up in his eyes as he made eye contact with Beverly, and in a matter of seconds, he was crying. He tried to stop, rubbing furiously at his eyes to stop the flow of tears, but Beverly took both of his hands, lacing their fingers together.

“R-R-Richie, you’re one of our b-best friends. W-We all ca-care about you s-s-so much, a-a-and we want to-to get r-rid of wh-whatever’s hu-hurting you,” Bill stepped forward this time, using a firm but gentle voice. Richie just shook his head. 

_ No no no no no, why did they have to come?! What if they come home early? What if they see anything in the house? They’re going to hate me, they’re going to hate me, they’re going to hate me _

The other Losers watched in horror as Richie’s whole body shook, taking sharp quick breaths as he sunk to his knees. Stan stepped forward, beginning to feel extra useless to Richie, but Beverly and Eddie stopped him.

“He’s having a panic attack. We shouldn’t get any closer to him, but we need a blanket. We have to ground him,” Eddie began, but Ben was already opening his backpack.

“I’ve got one,” He handed it to Eddie, who stepped closer to Richie and cautiously put it around his shoulders. 

Beverly rubbed his back, while Stan watched, standing as close as he could without overcrowding him. Mike, Ben, and Bill stayed a bit further away. They all wanted to help, but they knew that Eddie, Stan, and Beverly had it covered, and they didn’t want to make it worse by crowding him. So, they decided to make themselves useful.

“L-Let’s go s-s-set up the living r-room so that we c-can w-w-watch a m-movie once R-Rich i-is ready,” Bill looked between Ben and Mike, who nodded and went with him to the living room. When they saw the whole room covered in bottles, and the overwhelming smell of alcohol flooding their senses, they all made eye contact with one another. Mike was especially horrified when he saw dried blood on the wood in the hallway between the kitchen and living room.

“Let’s go tell the others we should take Richie somewhere else,” Mike looked to Bill and Ben, who nodded in agreement.

~~~~~~

Richie opened his eyes, noticing the feeling of a soft blanket around his shoulders and a hand on his back. He looked around and saw Eddie and Stan, along with fiery red hair next to him. Of course Bev was the one rubbing his back. Closer to the door, Bill, Mike, and Ben were waiting, all three looking a bit disturbed.

“S-Sorry about that, guys! I uh- I was just… so excited to see you, I couldn’t stop the tears of joy,” Richie put on a smile, but everyone knew how forced it was. Even he didn’t believe himself. Stan got on one knee in front of Richie, tears obviously threatening to fall. Richie couldn’t believe he was making Stan cry.

“Richie, please just let us help you, you dumbass. We hate seeing you like this. We want to know what we need to do,” Stan put his hands on Richie’s shoulders, making eye contact with him. He looked so upset and Richie fucking hated himself for it.

“I can’t, Stan the man,” Richie whispered, looking away from Stan. Now tears were freely flowing down Stan’s cheeks. Stan wanted to say more, but Eddie put a hand on his shoulder and took his place.

Eddie has such a determined look on his face. Richie could see that it was a bit of a sad look, but he still had the same stubborn look he always did. Because when Eddie Spaghetti Kaspbrak set his mind to something, he didn’t let  mostly anything stop him. He was a force to be reckoned with. Richie almost smiled at the thought.

“Richie, we won’t be mad at you, or hate you, or whatever you think will happen if you tell us. We really just want to help you, okay? How about we go to…” Eddie looked around to each of the other Losers, trying to find somewhere to take Richie.

“My house. We can go to my house,” Stan quickly offered, wiping his eyes. He wanted to do everything he could to help his best friend, since he hadn’t helped him soon enough.

“Guys, I-I can’t go. I have to clean o-or else my dad will kill me,” Richie said, looking around at all of the Losers. Slowly, something started to click between the six of them, and they all realized the same thing.

“Richie, we should go to Stan’s house. It won’t kill you to not clean up for one day, right?” Eddie asked gently, growing increasingly concerned when Richie looked more and more panicked.

“M-My dad…” Richie mumbled, biting his lip. He felt tears pricking at his eyes again, and leaned forward into Eddie, burying his face in the space between Eddie’s shoulder while he cried. Eddie, startled, wrapped his arms around Richie and rubbed his back.

~~~~~~

After a while of sitting there with Richie, he calmed down enough. All of the Losers watched him carefully as he and Eddie got up. Richie cringed, his ribs aching as he moved. He wrapped his arms around the offending area, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Richie? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Stan looked at Richie, his eyebrows furrowed.

“I’m fine. I just- I don’t think I can ride my bike,” Richie muttered, feeling like he was just burdening the Losers further. 

“You can sit on the back of mine, Rich,” Mike offered, and nobody objected. Mike was the strongest, and if he had to, Richie could sit in the basket on the front of his basket. Richie just nodded, not bothering to fight him on it.

Ben put away the blanket, and then the Losers were off, leaving the Tozier house with Richie in tow. They got on their bikes, Richie holding onto Mike riding on the back of his.

~~~~~~

Ten minutes later, they were at the Uris household. Eddie put an arm under Richie’s and helped him inside while Richie kept an arm around his abdomen. The Losers were all getting more and more worried. Richie hadn’t cracked a joke since he answered the door back at his house, and they all secretly wished that he’d just make an inappropriate joke to let them know that he wasn’t as bad as he seemed, but they also all knew that it was selfish of them to think like that.

“Dad? The Losers and I are going to hang out in my room,” Stan called to his parents in the kitchen.

“Alright, just don’t be too loud,” His dad called back, and all of the Losers were relieved when he didn’t question it. They helped Richie up the stairs, taking it slowly, before they finally reached Stan’s room. Mike and Bill laid him on top of the covers and Richie sucked a breath in through his teeth.

“Hey, Rich, can I look at your ribs?” Eddie asked gently, sitting on the edge of the bed, by his feet. Richie nodded, defeatedly lifting his shirt up. All of the Losers gasped a bit, the whole room going stiff.

“Richie, who did this to you?” Beverly looked at him, her eyebrows knit, concern in every feature. The Losers all looked similar as they looked at Richie laid on Stan’s bed.

“My dad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you guys enjoyed this extra long, early chapter! thank you guys for reading this far, i have so much fun writing this story, and i do plan on writing another story once i’m done with skin and bones! your comments all mean the world, they make my day honestly. i love you all so much :-) <3
> 
> reach me on tumblr @ scribble-stars
> 
> check the out the fic’s playlist and feel free to recommend songs in the comments!  
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLTmz-r62JUue25ByE0N2NDc3xGi0okj6v


	10. the lies we tell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys!!! i’m so sorry this chapter is out so long after the last one, i didn’t mean to leave you guys hanging, but i had a small bout of writer’s block, and then i actually went camping! so, here’s the chapter! i hope you guys enjoy :-)
> 
> tw: descriptions of injuries, implied/referenced child abuse, homophobic slurs

“What the  _ fuck?!”  _ Eddie was near hysterical when he heard the words leave Richie’s mouth. Bill and Beverly seem to be feeling similarly, however Beverly was doing a hell of a better job hiding it. 

“We have to tell someone, Richie,” Stan’s face was screwed in an expression that was a mix between fury and pure worry for Richie. His shirt was still pulled up, and the Losers could see the bruises covering his too-prominent ribs.

“No! We-we can’t, guys! He was just drunk. This is the only time he’s done this,” Richie yanked down his shirt and looked between his six friends. They all seemed skeptical. “I promise, I deserved it for being out way too late at the arcade anyways.”

Richie was desperate to keep the Losers from finding out the truth. They couldn’t know. They’d tell people and then they’d take him away from his parents, and then people would say things, and-

“Are you sure, Rich?” Mike looked at the others, then back to Richie, who nodded.

“R-R-Richie, if he-he’s hurting yuh-you, we have to-to tell someone,” Bill collected himself and the Losers all made some form of agreement, whether it be nodding, or making a quiet “yeah, Rich.”

“If you guys are worried about someone hurting me, you’ve got the wrong person! You guys have NO IDEA how rough Mrs. K can get some nights! Especially when we-“

“Beep-fucking-beep, Richie!” Eddie groaned, and the rest of the Losers couldn’t help themselves from making exasperated noises, or beeping him themselves.

They all exchanged looks, not sure what to think. If Richie was cracking ( _ terrible _ ) mom jokes, without batting an eye, maybe he really was fine? Against some of her better judgement, Beverly took a deep breath and looked Richie in the eyes.

“Richie, if you promise that this really is a one time thing, and that you’ll be fine, then we believe you. But if it happens again, even just a smack, we’re telling someone,” Beverly said, not leaving room for argument.

“Aw, Bevvy Bear, I can't believe you’re just going to make me and Mrs. K stop doing our usual!” Richie sat up and grabbed Beverly’s hand, giving the biggest, fakest, over dramatic pout he could muster.

“I am tempted to let you continue to fuck up your ribs worse, but that won’t do anyone favors. So, lay down, dickwad, and let me patch you up,” Eddie huffed, rolling his eyes. The Losers all knew Eddie would drop everything in a heartbeat to help any of the others, but none more than Richie. He’d never admit that he cared so deeply about the trashmouth though.

Still, Richie complied, laying back down onto Stan’s bed. Much to all of the Losers’ misfortune, Richie did not let any of what was happening deter him from making extremely inappropriately timed and themed jokes whenever he got the chance. However, it did mean he was successful. The Losers weren’t worried. After his injuries were out of sight, they really were out of mind. And Richie couldn’t have been more thankful. The Losers spent the rest of the afternoon at Stan’s place until they had to go for dinner or otherwise, and Richie’s problems were quickly swept under the rug.

~~~~~~

“Are you sure you wanna go, Rich? My parents said it’s really no big deal, even though it’s a school night. There are clothes here that fit you, and we could always get your bike and backpack on the way tomorrow morning, if you-“ Stan started, but Richie didn’t let him get too far, before getting to his feet. He looked around his friend’s room, before his eyes settled to meet Stan’s. 

“I really should go, Stan the man. I’ll be all good. It’s your poor mom I’m worried about. Tell her I’m sorry, but Mrs. K needs me once again,” Richie gave Stan the biggest shit eating grin he could muster up. Stan groaned and shook his head.

“Never mind. Get out of here,” He rolled his eyes, though Richie could see the corners of his mouth turn up in a tiny smile.

“Sure thing, Staniel,” Richie chuckled and let Stan walk him out.

“Are you sure you don’t want a ride home? Since you don’t have your bike,” Rabbi Uris walked out the front door just as Richie was saying goodbye to Stan.

“I’m alright, Rabbi Uris. Thanks for letting us hang out!” Richie grinned at Stan’s dad before he started his trek back home. His abdomen was still aching, but after Eddie’s assistance (and bruise gel), he could move with significantly less pain.

~~~~~~

When Richie reached his street, he took in a sharp breath and rushed to his house, immediately going towards the side yard. He couldn’t see his dad’s car, though his mom’s was still there. Whatever, at least his dad wasn’t there. He climbed up the makeshift ladder he’d made for Eddie years ago when he first started coming over at night, then slipped through his window. When he got in, he closed the window behind himself, but he was careful not to lock it.

When he got inside, he changed into flannel pajama pants and an old band tee, before he grabbed his backpack from next to bed. He sat down at his desk and pulled out his homework and other missing assignments, then got to work. Richie was thankful that report cards were a ways away, that way he had time to make up what he hadn’t gotten done. He burned through the pile of homework and missing assignments, stuffed the papers into his backpack, then got into bed, staring up at the ceiling.

He tried to sleep at some point, thinking of everything and nothing all at once. The Losers were suspicious now, but Richie could make sure they didn’t find out. Then it would all be over. He’d be taken from his family and he’d have to leave Derry. He’d have to leave his friends. He’d have to leave Eddie. Turning red, Richie groaned quietly and turned over to try and actually fall asleep. About an hour later, he was finally allowed sleep.

~~~~~~

Richie dragged himself to each of his teachers’ classes to turn in his missing assignments. The majority of them were understanding, and besides: Richie was one of the top students in all of his classes without putting in too much effort, so it wasn’t hard for him to get caught up. The only one who gave him shit was his English teacher, but he’d expected it from her, so he just handed in the papers, gave a bullshit excuse that wouldn’t raise any questions and went on his way.

Richie was walking down the hallway, when he felt a thick, meaty hand grab his long curls and slam his face into a locker. He internally sighed, before glancing over to see the Bowers Gang. 

“Hey, Bucky Beaver! What’d I tell you about parading down the hallways, you queer! Where are your little friends, huh? How about your boyfriend, the sick kid?” Henry laughed in Richie’s face, before he decked him in the side. Richie curled in on himself, sucking a breath in through clenched teeth.

“I’m sorry, Henry. I knew you’d be upset about your mom and I’s rowdy hangout last night, but this is overreacting, if you asked me,” Richie smirked and leaned in closer to Henry’s face, which was already close enough for Richie to smell his breath. Henry’s face screwed up in anger and he pulled Richie’s head back, his hands still clenching the black curls, then slammed it against the lockers. 

“Shut the fuck up, you queer!” Henry kept slamming his head into the lockers over and over and over until Richie couldn’t hear the insults being spewed at him over the ringing in his ears. After Henry grew bored of  _ that _ , he pushed Richie to the floor, the entire Bowers gang snickering as they passed. He felt a few passing kicks, and then they finally stopped. Richie was praying to whatever god there was that the Losers didn’t see him right then. He collected himself and did a once over on his injuries. His glasses were fine, he didn’t have any additional bruises, and he wasn’t bleeding.

_ Well, I’ll consider it a win, coming from the Bower’s Gang. _

He let out a sigh and finally made his way to his locker. He opened it and grabbed out the books and papers he’d need for his first class, when some suddenly snuck up behind him, putting their hands on his shoulders. He jumped a bit, his heart racing, but when he turned around, he saw fiery red hair with a gentle smile.

“Hey, Rich. How’re you doing?” Beverly took her hands off his shoulders and looked him over. She seemed satisfied, at the very least, and she pulled him into a gentle hug.

“I’m fine, Molly Ringwald! Super long night with Mrs.K though. I mean, we really went at it,” Richie smirked as Eddie walked up to them. Eddie rolled his eyes, shaking his head, before he looked at Richie again.

“Beep beep, Richie. When will you give it up about my mom?” Eddie looked a bit exasperated, and Richie couldn't stop himself from letting out a small chuckle.

“Never, Eds! I am deeply, madly infatuated with the beloved Sonia Kaspbrak! I don’t know what I would do with myself if something were to come between us! She-“

“Shut the fuck up, faggot!” A random upperclassman shouted as he passed by, shoving Richie a bit. Richie stumbled, before catching himself with his locker.

“ _ Ouch _ …” Richie muttered, rubbing the arm that had been hit. He didn’t let it get him down for long though, before he was doing his Englishman accent. “Well, that’s how it is sometimes, innit? Why, that daft fellow probably just has me mixed up with another mate!”

“Rich, are you alright?” Eddie frowned, shooting a glare down the hallway as the upperclassman continued towards his classroom.

“I’m peachy, Eds,” Richie assured him, then tightened his backpack straps. Eddie and Beverly made eye contact, both of them frowning as Richie started to walk down the hall towards his first class, a slight limp as he stepped. 

“Richie, are you sure? Maybe we should take you to the nurse,” Eddie bit his lip as he caught up to Richie, Beverly close behind. “I mean, you’re limping. Were you limping last night? What if-“

Richie turned around and put his hands on either side of Eddie’s face, looking him in the eyes. “Eddie, I’m fine, okay? I know you’re all worried after yesterday, but I’m honestly fine. You guys made me feel a billion times better. Let’s just do this bullshit so we can go to Mike’s game after school.”

“Oh shit! I totally forgot about that. Can one of you guys lend me money for snacks? I swear I’ll pay you back,” Eddie looked between Richie and Beverly, visibly feeling guilty.

“Don’t stress it, Eddie. I’ll buy you snacks, and you don’t have to pay me back.” Beverly smiled at him as they reached Richie. Beverly and Richie said goodbye to Eddie, before they went into their English class for first period.

~~~~~~~

When the Losers met up again, it was at lunch. They all ate and talked in a comfortable flow, Richie munching on the lunch he’d packed for himself. His dad had left a note that morning that him and Richie’s mom would be out of town on a vacation. They’d left an envelope with some cash, but no idea of how long they’d be gone. It shocked Richie a little bit, considering both Richie and his mom knew that Wentworth was a disgusting cheater and child abuser. But hey, it wasn’t any of his business.

“Y-y-you’re gonna k-kill it, M-Mike!” Bill beamed at Mike as he sat down with Ben, both of them coming from study hall in the library.

Mike turned a bit red, chuckling as he set down his lunch. “I guess so. Are you all coming to the game?”

“Of course! We would never miss out on the chance to see our beloved Mikey in his fancy football uniform. All the students are swooning,” Richie laughed, while Mike turned more red. The rest of the Losers laughed too, then continued on with their conversations, though they did notice the way Bill and Mike kept looking at each other.

~~~~~~

Finally, it was time for the long awaited football game. The Losers didn’t get to see Mike beforehand, but they were excited to see him play. They found seats on the bleachers outside, all of them sitting close to each other to keep warm in the cool Autumn weather. Richie sandwiched himself between Stan and Eddie, while Beverly sat between Ben and Bill.

“I’m gonna go grab snacks. Richie, Starburts, Eddie, M&Ms, Stan, Twix, and Bill, Snickers? Ben, you can come with me,” Beverly stood up, Ben scrambling to get up too.

“Sounds right, Bev. Thanks,” Stan nodded and smiled at Beverly, who shrugged and made her way to the concession stand with Ben.

~~~~~~

“BULLSHIT!” Eddie stood up, shouting as the referee called a pass interference on Derry High. Richie giggled at Eddie’s intense feelings. Watching Eddie get fired up over stuff was one of Richie’s favorite things. He felt things so intensely all the time, unapologetically.

“Yeah, what the fuck was that?!” Beverly stood up and shouted along with Eddie, while the rest of them cracked up. Well, except for Stan. He remained as neutral as ever.

The football game passed by relatively quickly. The other team beat them into the ground, but Mike had gotten in quite a few touchdowns, more than any other player on Derry’s team, but that was no surprise. All of the Losers agreed Mike was the best player on the entire team, and it was obvious. When the fourth quarter ended, the Losers raced down to meet Mike. Bill tackled him into a hug, though they were both bright red when they pulled away. However, they couldn’t pull away for long, before Beverly dragged them all into a giant group hug around Mike.

“You were amazing, Mikey! A one man army! A star that shines brighter than any other,” Richie fluttered his eyelashes at Mike, before bursting out with laughter. “But seriously, you were fucking phenomenal.”

“Thanks, Rich. I’m glad you guys enjoyed the game. It would’ve been even better if we’d won,” Mike said, chuckling a bit sheepishly. The Losers all assured him he won in their eyes, before they let him go to the lockers to change into his clothes.

“How about we grab some ice cream before we go hang out at the clubhouse? To celebrate,” Ben suggested, albeit quietly. The rest of the Losers quickly agreed and waited for Mike to return so they could run the plan by him.

~~~~~~

After acquiring ice cream, the Losers biked to the clubhouse. Eddie and Richie quickly took over the hammock, Stan did his homework, Beverly and Ben did their homework together, while Mike and Bill talked together in a corner, doing homework together too. Richie glanced at Eddie as he read the comic he’d chosen for that particular hangout: The Amazing Spider-Man. Richie grinned, leaning in closer to Eddie. If it were anyone else, Eddie probably would have pushed them away, or told them to give him space, but when he noticed Richie curl in closer to him, he felt heat rise in his cheeks.

The hours passed quietly and peacefully in the clubhouse, all of them in an air of comfortable silence, homework long forgotten. Richie and Eddie had passed out in the hammock, while Beverly and Ben were sitting on a beanbag, one of the newest additions to the clubhouse. Bill and Mike were quietly reading a book together, and Stan had left his homework to be finished at home, opting to read a book of his own.

~~~~~~

“Farewell, Losers! Tut tut, pip pip, cheerio! My services are needed elsewhere, but I’m sure I’ll see you chaps around!” Richie used his Englishman accent as they stopped in front of his house, just having parted with Eddie.

“Bye, Richie,” Stan rolled his eyes, a small smile on his face. The rest of the Losers said their goodbyes, then rode off to get the rest of them home.

When Richie stepped inside his house, he didn’t realize quite how excited he’d be to not be met with the overwhelming smell of alcohol. He went to the kitchen table and started on his homework, which he’d discarded while he was in the clubhouse with Eddie. He got it done quickly, listening to music on the radio in his kitchen, which kept his mind from wandering too much. Richie fed himself some dinner, before he went upstairs. Once he’d finished showering and getting ready for bed, he climbed into bed, falling asleep quickly, to his relief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next chapter should be out soon, sorry for the wait again! thank you for reading and commenting, they make my day!
> 
> reach me on tumblr @scribble-stars
> 
> check out the fic’s playlist and feel free to suggest songs :-)  
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLTmz-r62JUue25ByE0N2NDc3xGi0okj6v


	11. mom, would you wash my back? (this once, and then we can forget)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys!!! sorry for the delay! the last chapter had a (relatively, imo) satisfying ending, so i took some time for myself, but now i’m back! i hope you guys enjoy this chapter, which provides some insight to the other side of Richie’s relationship with Eddie and his own mom, Maggie
> 
> (title taken from “class of 2013” by mitski)
> 
> tw: child abuse (verbal and physical)

Richie woke with a start when he heard banging on his window. He caught his breath, making his way to the window, where he saw a distressed Eddie. He quickly unlocked the window and opened it for the shorter boy, who had obviously just been crying. His normally perfect hair was disheveled. He didn’t even have a fanny pack with him, he was just in pajamas and a zip up hoodie, an outfit too cold for the late autumn night.

“Eds? What’s wrong?” Richie practically pulled Eddie in, wrapping his arms around the shaking boy and sitting them down on his bed.

“My fucking mom! I-I heard her on the phone with my uncle, they want to take me to his house in fucking  _ Vermont _ for winter break. That’s three weeks away from you guys! And she thinks it’s because I’m being corrupted by you guys! What kind of  _ bullshit _ is that?!” Eddie pulled away from Richie and wiped his eyes furiously, trying to stop tears from flowing, though he was unsuccessful.

“Hey, Eddie, it’ll be okay. The other Losers and I can write or call you everyday, right? And it’s not for another month,” Richie put a hand on Eddie’s shoulder while he cried. “Fuck your mom, Eds… she’ll miss me while you guys are gone.”

Richie’s concerned expression turned into a shit-eating, full tooth smile at that. Eddie didn’t hesitate in grabbing one of Richie’s pillows and hitting him with it, over and over again.

“That’s so gross! Beep beep, Richie!” Eddie squealed, before dropping the pillow to cup a hand over his mouth, looking at Richie a bit scared.

“Don’t worry about the folks, Eddie Spaghetti. They decided to get out of town and go on a trip together. I’ve got the whole place to myself,” Richie shrugged and spread his arms out to the whole room around them.

“How long are they gonna be gone?” Eddie raised an eyebrow and glanced around.

“They- I don’t know,” Richie frowned and glanced at his hands in his lap, examining the pattern on his pajama pants, which were suddenly very interesting. “I mean, they left like… a few hundred dollars. But they didn’t say how long they’d be gone.”

Eddie sighed and looked at Richie, the smile he was giving him small and a bit sad. “Take care of yourself, Rich. Let me or any of the other Losers know if you need anything at all, okay?”

“Of course, Eddie,” Richie whispered and returned the smile. “So… Do you want to stay the night? Your mom might be a bit upset I’m choosing the younger Kaspbrak over her-“ 

“Beep beep, Richie.” Eddie rolled his eyes and stood up off of Richie’s bed. “I can’t be missing in the morning.”

“We can set an alarm? C’mon, Eds… Just for tonight?” Richie asked gently, but there was a hint of desperation in his tone. His day had been amazing, but this would’ve been the cherry on top. Richie wanted to be close to Eddie.

“Fine. But don’t call me Eds,” Eddie sighed and sat back down by Richie’s side. Richie grinned and began to straighten out the blanket, before he ran out of the room, returning with another pillow.

“Here, you can have this one. It’s probably a bit… cleaner, than mine,” Richie chuckled and got under the blanket with Eddie, who seemed a bit nervous. They got settled and Richie faced away from Eddie, not wanting to make anything more awkward. “Night, Eddie.”

“Goodnight, Richie,” Eddie huffed out, though there was a fondness in the tone. Eddie quickly fell asleep, Richie listening as his breathing gradually evened out. After another fifteen minutes, Richie managed to fall asleep himself.

~~~~~~

The following month passed by in a blur. It could’ve been because Richie’s parents still hadn’t come home (it was unusual, to Richie at least, to go so long without one of his parents berating him, or making him feel like he didn’t matter). Maybe it was because time happened to pass by too fast when nobody wanted it to. Eddie had told the rest of the Losers about the unfortunate news, though it gave them all time to give him phone numbers and addresses so they could keep in touch, whether it be through letter or phone calls.

“We-We’re gonna muh-m-miss you, Eddie,” Bill put a hand on Eddie’s shoulder while the seven of them all stood on Eddie’s front yard, much to Sonia’s dismay. She watched from the porch while the group of friends said goodbye to Eddie.

“We‘re gonna miss you so much, dude,” Beverly ruffled his hair as he swatted at her hands.

“Bye, Eddie,” Mike smiled and gave Eddie a quick hug, Ben following suit with a similar goodbye. The Losers all went down the line, until it was time for Richie to say goodbye. He pulled Eddie into a tight hug and leaned in close to his ear.

“Please don’t forget about us, Eds. Don’t forget about me,” Richie whispered, clutching lightly on Eddie’s shirt. He felt Eddie let out a small chuckle, rubbing his back.

“I won’t forget about you, Rich. But… stop calling me Eds,” He pulled away and gave a soft smile, before he looked at the rest of the Losers. They enveloped Eddie in a big group hug, before pulling away just as Sonia walked down to the car. Eddie joined her and gave the Losers a final wave, before they drove off.

“Bye, Eddie Spaghetti,” Richie whispered to himself, before he grabbed his bike and rode off. As he made his way down the street, he called out to the other Losers. “Farewell, my good lads and lasses! I must be off now! For there are adventures awaiting me!”

He heard them shout goodbyes as he rode away, headed the few blocks down to his own street. What he saw when he got there was less than unpleasantly surprising. His parents’ cars. Shit. He hadn’t cleaned yet or done anything and-

It was only his mom’s car. Richie let out a shaky breath, trying to stop his whole body from trembling as he made his way up the driveway. He considered going through his window, but maybe his mom hadn’t been home for too long. If she’d driven, maybe she was sober which meant he could really talk to her. He leaned his bike against the side of the house, before he walked in the house silently, carefully closing the door behind himself. The door closing was still too loud.

“Rosemary? Rosemary, baby girl, is that you?” Maggie called out, and Richie felt himself get sick to his stomach. He could already smell the alcohol. He took in a sharp breath and walked to the living room to see her.

“No, Mom… It’s Richie, your son. Remember? I’m a boy…” Richie bit his bottom lip as Maggie silently looked him over, her expression unreadable. She rose to her feet, grabbing Richie by the shoulders.

“...Why’d you take my baby girl from me? How could you  _ do this  _ to me? I  _ never _ wanted a son! I want my baby girl! What did you do with her?!  _ I want my Rosemary! _ ” Maggie screamed, louder and louder, until Richie couldn’t take it. He pulled away quickly, getting her off of him, but he felt his heart racing. He couldn’t  _ breathe,  _ he just needed to  _ breathe.  _ He backed into a corner and covered his ears with the heels of his hands, clenching his eyes shut.

Everything was  _ too loud _ and he couldn’t breathe and all he could hear was his mother screaming at him, along with the rapid thumping of his heart. She had grabbed his shoulders again, shaking him as he tried to shut the world out, to make it all  _ stop _ . She was too loud. Everything was too loud. She let go of him momentarily and left the room. Richie collected himself, catching his breath as the sounds began to quiet down. Upon Maggie’s return multiple minutes later, she had a dress draped over her arm, along with a brush and makeup bag in her hands.

“Please, Rosemary. My little girl, let me make you  _ pretty,”  _ Maggie dropped the makeup bag and brush, let the dress slide off her forearm, then grabbed Richie with an iron grip around his too-thin bicep, easily reaching all the way around it. “Baby girl, I can  _ help  _ you. You can stop acting like a boy, we both  _ know  _ you’re my  _ sweet little girl _ .”

Maggie stroked Richie’s cheek, but he didn’t dare protest or put up a fight. He tried to back further into the corner, but there was really nowhere to go. He could smell the alcohol, and he knew she wasn’t dangerous when she was drunk. Just…  _ a lot.  _ She took off Richie’s glasses, making his vision blurry, then set the glasses on the floor a few feet away. She grabbed the brush and started to run it through Richie’s hair, which was an inch or two above shoulder length after he’d spent the whole summer growing it out.

He’d cut it again.

It wasn’t the first time Maggie had done this. Brush his hair, put makeup on him, dress him up. But she hadn’t done it in so long. She’d been so drunk... for years? She hadn’t done it since he was ten. She was always too out of it. Maggie always drank a bit much, but she especially started drinking too much after she found out about Went constantly sleeping around at the office. But it was fine. Richie admitted to himself, selfishly, he was glad she’d become more subdued. He didn’t want or need both of his parents tormenting him at the same time. Richie spaced out and let Maggie brush his hair and do his makeup, trying to ignore the discomfort of her treating him like some dress up doll. 

After twenty minutes of Maggie doing his makeup and hair, she handed him the dress, along with tights and shoes he hadn’t noticed before, but was sure wouldn’t fit. He put on his glasses and headed to the bathroom down the hall, locking the door behind him. He got dressed, surprised when the tights and dress fit, unsurprised when the shoes didn’t. He spent a few minutes looking at what his mom had done, then decided he needed to get out there before she took it upon herself to get him. He took a deep breath, before walking out of the bathroom and back to his mother

~~~~~~

Richie sobbed as he scrubbed at the makeup on his face. The dress and tights were stuffed into the bottom of his hamper in his room, and he’d long since changed into sweatpants and a shirt, pulling a sweatshirt on after a few moments of contemplation. He couldn’t look at himself.

_ “My little girl,” Maggie stroked one of Richie’s ever increasingly hollow cheeks, her hand delicate and barely brushing the skin. “You’re so thin and beautiful. My beautiful Rosemary. All the other moms here will be jealous of my baby girl.” _

_ “Mom, I’m a  _ boy _ , please look at me. I’m not Rosemary. I’m Richie,” Richie quietly pleaded to her to really see him. “Please, Mom. I’m your  _ son.”

_ “You’re not some  _ filthy boy _ , like your man-whore father! You’re my baby girl! Don’t leave me! DON’T TAKE MY ROSEMARY!” Maggie screeched at Richie and grabbed the collar of the dress, shaking him until he swore he could feel his brain rattling inside his skull. _

Richie swallowed down bile that rose in his throat at the memories of what had happened not even an hour ago. After she shook him, she’d stumbled to the kitchen and returned with empty beer cans that she tirelessly threw at his feet as he ran up the stairs, getting to the bathroom that was next to his room. So, there he was. Shaking, sore, exhausted, and terrified. He finished wiping off the makeup finally, then listened for his mom. Richie could hear the TV playing downstairs. It hadn’t been playing before, so he took it that she was passed out or otherwise on the couch, but she wouldn’t hear him over the TV. He could finish collecting his thoughts and feelings, pick up the cans and wipe the floors, help his mom upstairs to bed once she was more zoned out, then move on to cleaning the rest of the house. He had to. Went could return at any moment if his mom was there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, guys!!! i’m so excited i’m over half way done with this story, and i’m so thankful for all of you that have stayed along to read and comment and leave kudos, it all makes my day!
> 
> reach me on tumblr @scribble-stars
> 
> check out the fic’s playlist and feel free to suggest songs!  
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLTmz-r62JUue25ByE0N2NDc3xGi0okj6v


	12. lost love letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh. my. god. you guys, i am so so sorry. there's no excuse for why this chapter took me so long, and i'm really sorry for the wait! i'm going to write some bonus content that relates to this chapter and post that separately, possibly on my tumblr? let me know what you guys would prefer!
> 
> anyways, thank you so much for being so patient and reading this far! i love and appreciate you all :-) <3

_If you don't look back_   
_Then I won't look back_   
_If you don't give a damn_   
_Then I won't give a damn_

  
-lost love letters by fog lake

_ ~~~~~~ _

_ december 19, 1990 _

_ my love, eddie spaghetti fo fetti bo betty,  _

_ derry is even more fucking boring somehow. but i guess i knew it’d be like that without you here. none of the other losers want to read comics in the hammock with me, spaghetti man. they’re driving me bonkers, those assholes. also, sorry for the swearing, especially if the alluring, stunning, kind, intelligent sonia kaspbrak is reading this. i figured i gotta apologize in the first letter if i’m just gonna keep writing like this. anyways, my parents are back in town, but my mom came back a day before my dad. she was happy to see me. i can tell she really missed me, you know? she even spent the afternoon with me the day you left. so, things are alright here at the tozier residence. my dad actually felt really bad about hurting me before they left. he spent the afternoon with me the day after he got back too. _

_ that’s enough about me, spaghetti man. the other losers are doing good, even if they’re a bunch of dickwads who won’t read comics with me. bowers has actually been leaving us alone, which is a relief. poor mikey was close to losing it before break. fucking bowers gang will probably bother us again right after school gets back, but i’ll take what i can get. haystack and molly ringwald finally kissed. it happened while they were at a movie together. so i think they’re technically dating now? i’m not sure. i’ll fill you in if i find out anything else in my next letter. calling would probably be a lot easier, and my hand probably wouldn’t hurt as much, but i think there’s something special about letters. so, try to write me back, okay? i absolutely have to hear how your mom is doing. i hope she’s doing well without her man nearby. let her know that i’ve been very faithful. i haven’t spoken to another woman. okay, maybe one. or two. but ms. marsh and mrs. uris desperately needed me, especially for- _

_ i just realized you can’t beep me over letter. i’ll do it to myself for you, my beloved spaghetti. i hope that middle-of-bumfuck-nowhere, vermont is okay. you should definitely send me some pictures if you can even get them processed there. i have a surprise for you next letter, so get ready, eds!  _

_ yours truly and dearly and lovingly, _

_ trashmouth tozier _

~~~~~~

_ december 22, 1990 _

_ pasta lad, my love, _

_ i thought i’d give you some time to respond, but i don’t know if you’re ever going to, so here we are. i don’t have much to say. it’s the same as the last letter. okay, it’s not. a lot has happened in a week. ben and bev won’t stop being all mushy, but it’s cute i guess. bowers and his goons are still messing with us. in his defense, i think poor henry wasn’t ready for me to tell his besties about the size of his wang. i thought for sure they’d have already had enough dick measuring contests to know, but maybe they forgot, or he was still embarrassed. whatever the case, i’m pretty sure the shiner he gave me is ALSO bigger than his teeny tiny mini-bowers. the rest of the losers and i really miss you, eddie. we haven’t really done much without you. mike’s been busy working for grandpa hanlon, so we haven’t seen him much. as i told you, ben and bev are dating now, so they’ve been spending more time alone with each other. big bill has had to watch georgie while his parents travel, so he’s also been preoccupied. but good ol’ stan the man and i have been hanging out like crazy. it’s mostly me talking while he reads in the clubhouse, but it works. don’t fret, eds, the losers club hasn’t completely fallen apart without you, it’s just been a weird winter break so far, and we’re hardly a few days in. _

_ now, for the moment we’ve both been waiting for… your gift! I’m sure that seeing a box arrive addressed to you rather than a simple envelope was exciting. this gift i’m giving you means more to me than even your mom, so you better take good care of it. and don’t worry your pretty little head about paying me back. you using it is enough for me, eddie spaghetti. below, i’ve made a list so that you know every song on this mixtape, since i know you’re not particularly knowledgeable in the musical area and you like to know what you’re listening to. it’s not really any one type of music, but i can tell you they’re all jams, eds _

_ eddie spaghetti’s epic pasta salad mix _

  * _bohemian rhapsody- queen_


  * the boy with the thorn in his side- the smiths


  * sympathy for the devil- the rolling stones (mrs. k probably won’t like this one)


  * bennie and the jets- elton john


  * piano man- billy joel


  * you’re my best friend- queen (haha, get it?)


  * everybody wants to rule the world- tears for fears


  * carry on wayward son- kansas


  * blitzkrieg bop- the ramones


  * hit me with your best shot- pat benatar


  * we didn’t start the fire- billy joel


  * i’m still standing- elton john


  * hey jude- the beatles



_ well, that’s it, eddie spaghetti. i hope things are going alrighty in vermont. write me back if you get the chance, or even relay a message to the other losers? i don’t know, but i’m going a little crazy here, eds _

_ merry fuckin christmas, _

_ richie _

_ ~~~~~~ _

“Eddie, you have to call him,” Beverly frowned as she spoke to Eddie over the phone. “He hasn’t heard anything from you since you left, and I see him working on those letters every damn day. I know your mom doesn’t like him, and I know you’re trying to protect him and yourself, but he really needs it. We’ve all gotten a little... distant, because of responsibilities we’ve had at home. But Rich’s been lonely. I don’t even know what he did for Christmas, all I could do was drop off a gift.”

Eddie sighed as he tapped his foot rapidly, twirling the phone cord around his finger while he thought of a response. However, before he could try and explain himself, Beverly kept going.

“Eddie, what day is it?”

He cleared his throat and took a deep breath, almost feeling like the guilt would physically prevent him from speaking. The accusatory tone of Beverly’s voice made his chest constrict with guilt and anxiety.

“December 28th,” Eddie forced out meekly, staring at his tapping foot.

“That’s right, and break started on the 18th. How many letters has he sent you since break started?”

“Six… and the Walkman with the mixtape for Christmas,” Eddie mumbled, taking a glance at the Walkman that was sitting a few feet away from him. He’d been listening to it before he called Beverly.

“Right, and you’ve sent Richie exactly  _ zero  _ letters or a Christmas gift. I see him working on those letters every time we hang out. He misses you, Eddie, and none of this is fair to him. He keeps asking the other Losers and I if you’re even calling or writing us. What am I supposed to say to that? He thinks you hate him, Eddie.”

“I-I know, Bev. I don’t hate him, but I don’t know how to talk to him anymore. I really…” He glanced around to make sure his mom and uncle weren’t nearby. “I really like him, Bev. Okay? I-I haven’t talked to him because I have a big fat crush on him and now I don’t know what to say anymore!”

Tears stung in his eyes, threatening to fall with minimal prompting. There was a silence on both ends for a few minutes, before Beverly finally spoke up again.

“Oh, Eddie…” Her voice was full of the sisterly affection she gave all of the Losers, save except for with Ben.

“I have to tell him. But-But I don’t even know how he’ll react and I could ruin our friendship and I don’t want to lose my best friend,” Tears were falling freely at that point, and his breath caught when he stopped rambling.

“Eddie, it’s not my place to say how he feels, but you need to talk to Richie about this. You should tell him how you feel,” Beverly’s voice was gentle, and although Eddie was unaware, full of knowing. “Maybe he feels the same way?”

“I don’t know, Beverly. I just... need to think about it. I-I promise though, I’ll call him. What’s his house number again?” Eddie grabbed a pen and quickly wrote it on a small slip of paper as Beverly recited it from memory.

Eddie thanked her and hung up, then stared at the phone contemplatively, then back to the paper by it. He dialed the number and waited as it rang... and rang... and rang. After it had stopped ringing, a monotone message in a man’s voice started playing.

“ _ You’ve reached the Tozier household. Leave a message after the tone and we’ll get back to you as soon as we can-” _

It beeped, and Eddie took a shaky breath, then spoke.

“Hello, it-it’s Eddie Kaspbrak. Richie, if you hear this, call me back? I wanted to do some catching up. Uh- thank you. Bye."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> will Richie get back to Eddie? yes. let's hope neither of them go crazy before they can make that happen haha. the extra content i mentioned at the start of this chapter would be the rest of the letters that Richie sends Eddie, and maybe even some scenes of what the Losers club has been doing during winter break! let me know what you want to see and where you guys would prefer it :-)
> 
> thank you for the bookmarks, kudos, and comments- they make my day! i love you all and make sure to take care of yourselves :-) <3
> 
> reach me on tumblr @scribble-stars
> 
> check out the fic’s playlist and feel free to suggest songs!  
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLTmz-r62JUue25ByE0N2NDc3xGi0okj6v


	13. emotional motion sickness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys!! i'm not entirely sure how, but i literally wrote this in like, two days, and i wanted to make up for the month long wait for the last chapter, soooooo here you go and enjoy! :-)
> 
> no tw for this one (or the last chapter, sorry i forgot to post it there!)

_ I hate you for what you did  
And I miss you like a little kid  
I faked it every time but that's alright  
I can hardly feel anything  
I hardly feel anything at all _

\- motion sickness by phoebe bridgers

~~~~~~

Stan was pacing across the hardwood floor of his room. Which meant he was stressed out. And Stan being stressed out meant something was wrong. Which in turn, stressed out the rest of the Losers Club.

Stress presented itself in many forms with the Losers Club. It was a quiet sort of stress, at least that time around. Too quiet. 

Bill tapped his foot while he recited his old mantra from speech therapy under his breath ( _ He thrusts his fists  _ _ against the post, and still insists he sees the ghost _ )

Ben sat next to Beverly, furrowing his brow as he read  a book beside her on Bill’s bed ( _It was more like a mumble, really. Not knowing made it hard to articulate anything, if he was being honest_ ) .

Beverly herself was attacking her lip with her teeth, trying to at least partially listen to what Ben was reading to her. ( _ She felt the skin breaking. She tasted blood. She knew she had to stop, but she couldn’t stop the pit of dread in her stomach either. It wasn’t nausea but she was certain she’d lose what she’d had for lunch if she didn’t hear anything about or from their friend soon _ ).

And Mike stood silently, his arms crossed against his chest. He had a stable expression on his face. ( _ He had to be strong. Stan and Bill couldn’t be right then, they’d known Richie far too long. He loved Richie too, but two years was nothing compared to the nearly ten years Bill, Stan, and Eddie had known Richie. It was his turn to be a shoulder for them again _ ).

Frustrated, Beverly stood up and shouted-

“Are we ever going to talk about what the  _ fuck  _ is going on?!” She threw her arms up, letting them fall to her sides dramatically. Ben was quick to close the book and take one of her hands, but she quickly took it back, holding it by her chest. “Ben, I adore you, but now is  _ not  _ the time.” 

He nodded quickly. “Yeah, of course, my bad.”

“Why haven’t we heard  _ anything _ ? It’s been a full week. He missed the New Year’s party  _ and _ our last two hangouts. Eddie’s coming back tomorrow morning, and he never even got a call back,” Stan continued to pace, his expression reading angry to the naked eye, but any one of the Losers Club could see it was pure worry. He’d been the last one to talk to Richie ( _ December 28th, that fateful day _ ) before the boy went radio silent. A letter dated as the 27th had reached Eddie in Vermont the night he’d talked to Beverly, but there had been no call back. No more letters. Nothing.

But it wasn’t an Eddie-exclusive radio silence. Richie had disappeared. The Losers had all taken turns leaving messages at the Tozier house phone, or riding by on their bikes to his house to knock on the door. It was always the same thing. No response. On New Year’s Eve, during the day, Bill and Stan knocked on the door, yelling to tell RIchie about the “party” ( _ It was more of a small gathering. It was really just the Losers Club at Beverly’s house again _ ). The two cars they’d been seeing in the driveway were down to one.

“I-I just wuh-want to know if h-h-he’s okay,” Bill sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, fighting an imaginary headache before he looked at Stan. “Did he s-say _ any-anything _ on Fr-Friday?”

“ _ No _ , I already told you. He kept making his usual stupid jokes and trying to convince me to go to the arcade and comic book store with him on Saturday,” Stan stopped pacing and looked around at the rest of them. “What  _ happened _ ?”

They heard the phone ring downstairs and chose to ignore it, until Stan’s mom yelled up to them.

“Stan, honey? Richie’s on the phone!”

All of the Losers’ eyes went wide, and Stan practically ran downstairs, the others right on his heels. He gained enough composure to take the phone from his mom and thank her, but once she was back in the living room, he spoke into the phone, while Beverly switched it to speaker.

“R-richie? Are you there? Are you- are you  _ okay _ ?”

A weak chuckle was heard on the other end, and if you were to ask any of the Losers what their reaction had been, the common answer would be their heart shattering. It sounded so uncharacteristically Richie.

“ _ Wow, Stanny boy... you’re starting to sound like Big Bill with that stutter, _ ” Richie’s voice was gravelly from disuse, and he sounded  _ so  _ worn out.

“Richie, please tell us what’s going on, we’ve all tried talking to you all week. We kept going to your house and calling, but you had just  _ disappeared _ and we were so scared. Eddie’s worried sick too,” Beverly cut in, standing close next to Stan. “Rich, hon,  _ talk to us _ .”

There was a pause on Richie’s end. For a moment, they were all scared he’d hung up, or something else had happened. ( _ What if it had been his dad again? They’d all guiltily entertained that idea. It would explain why he disappeared. Maybe he was hurt and needed to rest? But he wouldn’t just leave them hanging like that for a whole week if that were the case, no matter how determined he was to keep them from seeing him hurt or anything less than the comedic relief, or a shoulder to put their own burdens on). _

But then he spoke, his voice hardly above a whisper.

“ _ I-It’s my mom. I found her passed out in the kitchen. There-there was a lot of glass and wine and there was some blood and-and she wouldn’t wake up, _ ” His voice cracked as he spoke, every word said slowly and shakily, a stark contrast from how Richie would normally talk. “ _ I called 911 and they took her to the hospital. M-my dad... he-he left after the ambulance took her. I had to bike o-over here and she still hasn’t woken up yet and I-I don’t know what to do.” _

The Losers all looked around at each other, horrified. Richie had been going through this  _ all alone _ ? Beverly had moved back in order to wrap Ben in a hug, crying quietly for their friend while Ben comforted her. Bill and Stan stood there mostly in pure shock, exchanging looks with each other. Meanwhile, Mike had taken a step towards the phone. He took it carefully from Stan’s hand and began to talk.

“Rich, we won’t go over there if you don’t want us to, but I think you should be surrounded by friends right now,” Mike’s voice had been the polar opposite of Richie’s over the phone. It was warm and smooth and calm.

“ _ C-can you guys maybe come here? _ ” Richie’s voice was tiny again, unsure if he should even bother asking. Why would they waste their time with him and his crazy fucking dysfunctional family? Still, the part of him in desperate need of comfort won over the self-loathing one. 

“ _ I’m really scared and I can’t keep doing this alone. _ ”

~~~~~~

Stan’s mom had been more than happy to drive them after they explained what they thought was happening. Which was how they all ended up seated in her 1985 Plymouth Voyager on their way to the hospital just on the other side of town. Beverly and Ben had taken the back row ( _ They were silently comforting one another. God knew they all needed it _ ), Bill and Mike sat in the middle ( _ They had to both stay strong. The others were counting on them. At least, that’s what they thought _ ), and Stan sat in the passenger seat ( _ His eyes were trained forward, tears burning and threatening to fall. But he wouldn’t let himself cry _ ). When they reached the hospital, they were all ready to jump out of the car before it came to a full stop, but Stan’s mom stopped them all before they could reach to open the doors.

“I know you kids are worried about Richie, but you need to be mindful. This is a hospital and you’re five teenagers who are all eager to see your friend, but there are other patients and families here too, so be courteous and respectful as we make our way in there,” Andrea spoke to them sweetly, but not without some firmness. They all made various forms of a promise to be quiet and keep in mind the other patients, before they finally got out of the car.

At the doors outside, a familiar bike had been discarded, the helmet strapped haphazardly on one of the handlebars. They weren’t sure what they’d been expecting when they got inside the main entry, but it was somehow louder and quieter than they’d be expecting at the same time. They didn’t waste too much time getting to the front desk, where Andrea looked at the uninterested nurse who sat there.

“Excuse me, do you know where we would be able to find Maggie Tozier?”

The nurse looked from Andrea to the five teens behind her and raised an eyebrow, before she spoke. “Are you family?”

“I’m her sister-in-law, and I have three of her nephews here,” She gestured to Bill, Stan, and Ben. “And two of her son’s friends.”

The nurse glanced at the teens, then went to her computer, typing something in, before she looked back to Andrea. “She’s in the ICU. You can go in, but only two at a time,” The nurse rolled her eyes, clearly not genuinely caring, then went back to whatever magazine it was that she’d been reading before the six visitors had started speaking to her.

Andrea and the Losers Club quietly made their way to the elevator, piling into it. They’d all been beyond thankful that it was empty. Andrea had an arm around Stan’s shoulder, rubbing his back ( _ He wasn’t sure he’d even realized it at the time, but the steady rub of her hand on his back was the only thing keeping him from breaking down in the elevator _ ), Ben and Beverly had their hands intertwined ( _ They’d been holding hands long before they entered the elevator, acting as an anchor for the other _ ), and Bill and Mike both leaned against the walls of the elevator ( _ Bill stared off at the ground in front of his feet, mumbling under his breath again, while Mike stuffed his hands in his pockets, not sure what he was doing).  _ The elevator ride was short, and they reached the ICU in no time. Another nurse pointed them in the direction of Maggie’s room, and they decided that Stan and his mom would go in first, though they were all itching to get inside. Bill and Beverly were both particularly impatient. Ben and Mike tried their best to keep them distracted while Stan and his mom went in.

When the mother and son entered the room, they weren’t sure what they’d see, but they didn’t expect what was in front of them. Maggie Tozier was lying chillingly still, more than half a dozen tubes connected to her, a breathing cannula in her nose. For the first time that they’d seen her in years, Maggie seemed at peace to Andrea and Stan. Richie, on the other hand, looked nearly as bad as his mother, if not worse. He was pale, and he sat curled up with his knees drawn up to his chest in the chair he sat on. His eyes were red-rimmed and deep rings were under his eyes from obvious sleep deprivation, though they were partially hidden by his glasses. Stan realized he was still in the same clothes from the last time he’d seen him, the large graphic tee hung off his thin frame, and his jeans were rumpled by his ankles. His curly hair had been cut short except for on top, and it was messy, flying out from every direction.

“Richie?” Stan stepped further into the room while Andrea closed the door behind them. Richie glanced up at Stan and the smallest smile Stan had ever seen on Richie made its way onto his face.

“Hey there, Stan the man,” He looked from Stan, then to Andrea, nodding his head. “Mrs. Uris.”

“How’re you holding up?” Andrea asked gently, while Stan furrowed his brows as he looked at his best friend sitting there.

“Y-you should uh- you should see the other guy,” He attempted to joke, but tears started streaming down his cheeks and his whole body shook with quiet sobs. Stan wasn’t sure what to do for a moment, but his mom put a hand on his back and gently pushed him forward. Stan wrapped his best friend in a tight hug, holding him close ( _ His best friend who was too skinny. He could almost feel every vertebrae of his spine, and his ribs pressed against Stan’s own chest _ ).

“It’s okay, Rich. It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Stan spoke gently while Richie just clung to him, not wanting to let go. It broke Stan’s heart, seeing Richie so  _ broken _ . He shook in Stan’s arms, sobbing harder the longer that he was in the hug. He kept hiccuping, struggling to take deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself down.

Unbeknownst to Richie, Andrea looked through Maggie’s file and frowned. Admitted at 6:34 PM on December 28th, 1990, Maggie Tozier had been in a coma from alcohol poisoning since. Richie had been the one to find her and call 911... there had been an attempt to contact the husband with no success... and no other family could be reached either. Richie had been all alone for the past week, watching his mother while he deteriorated too. But the file said she was stable, so why hadn’t he gone home to change or eat or  _ anything _ ? Richie looked so disheveled and sick. The boy was pale, he always had been in the time Andrea had known the boy, but he looked white as the sheets on the bed.

“Hey, Richie, when’s the last time you ate something?” Stan whispered to Richie, rubbing his back gently. He had started to calm down a bit to where he was still crying, but he wasn’t struggling to breathe anymore.

“I-I didn’t have money to buy stuff from the cafeteria and I didn’t want to leave her to go get money from my house,” Richie’s voice was hardly a whisper. “This r-really nice nurse brought me stuff a few times...”

Stan looked to his mom, eyebrows furrowed, but she knew what to do. She set a gentle hand on either boys’ shoulders, then spoke.

“Rich, honey, Stan and I are going to get you something to eat, alright? Can we send in two of the others? They’re waiting outside,” Andrea looked at Richie as Stan pulled away. After a brief nod from Richie, Stan and Andrea left. Before Bill and Beverly could run in though, Andrea stopped them.

“He’s in rough shape, but don’t say anything just yet. And don’t ask about his mom. Just ask how he’s doing, comfort him, stuff like that,” Andrea explained in a hushed tone, the two teens nodding.

“He even tried joking…” Stan wiped his eyes, a tiny quirk in the corner of his mouth. No matter how bad things were for Richie, he always tried to be the one to uplift the others.

~~~~~~

Hours later, Beverly had Richie’s head in her lap as she gently played with his hair. He was fast asleep while they drove back to the Uris house, the only noise was the steady hum of the car and the rattling of his bike attached to the back of the car. It took a while, but the Losers Club, with the help of Andrea, convinced Richie to go home with them. They’d all hated seeing him so tired and sickly looking, and they knew he needed to get to a house with a real bed and full meals for a while. Bill had offered his own, but Andrea reassured him that they could look after him. Each time Richie spoke to a different pair, he’d broken down when they started to talk about his feelings, but they never ended up getting anything out of him. He just cried himself until he was nearly asleep, just giving nods or shaking his head to questions. Mike had carried him out, while Bill and Ben worked together to carry the bike and secure it to the back of the car. Stan, Bill, and Beverly argued over who would sit in the back, while Ben and Mike were content to sit wherever they were needed.

“Is he gonna be okay?” Beverly asked softly, using one hand to play with Richie’s hair and the other to rub soothing circles on his back.

“Huh-h-he will b-be. H-his mom t-t-too,” Bill said, sounding rather sure of himself ( _ Then again, he always did. He needed to sound confident for his friends. To reassure them. It was ironic, the way they all individually thought they had to be the strong one _ ).

“But what if she doesn’t wake up? What’s going to happen to him?” Stan asked as he looked back from the middle row, while Mike turned around from the passenger seat.

“It’ll all be okay, you guys,” Ben piped up, a small but warm and comforting smile on his face. The rest of the Losers returned it, with the exception of Richie of course, who was finally getting some sleep, which was a relief to all of them. He’d looked like a living skeleton under the lights in the hospital, but he finally looked like what they all really were,  _ a kid _ . And now they were all going to help him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you guys liked this chapter! i really enjoyed writing this one with the hurt/comfort, even though it meant more suffering for our boy :-( but the other Losers have got him now, and Eddie's gonna be in the next chapter! :-) 
> 
> thank you for the comments, kudos, and bookmarks, they all mean the world to me! :-) <3 i love you all and have a wonderful day, make sure to take care of yourselves!
> 
> reach me on tumblr @scribble-stars
> 
> check out the fic’s playlist and feel free to suggest songs!  
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLTmz-r62JUue25ByE0N2NDc3xGi0okj6v


	14. don't be afraid (we're going home)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI uh so its,,, its been 3 months, obviously. i'm SO SO SO sorry it took me so long, but i've just been struggling a little bit mentally, and so making myself write has been harder and harder. it felt like a chore every time i would open up the document, so i just stopped for the longest time. BUT i'm back!!! here's the second to last chapter, i hope you guys enjoy and thank you so much for staying with me even through my hiatus hahaha
> 
> tw: none! (at least, i don't think so. please let me know if i need to add anything!)

_ Sometimes we will die and sometimes we will fly away  
Either way you're by my side until my dying days  
And if I'm not there and I'm far away  
I said, don't be afraid  
I said, don't be afraid  
We're going home _

_ - _ taxi cab by twenty one pilots

~~~~~~

Eddie would never admit it out loud to the other Losers, but he had literally gotten sick when he was given the update from Beverly, barely making it to the bathroom in time after they said goodbye reluctantly ( _ He was thankful his mom hadn’t been in the house. She wouldn’t have left him alone long enough to grasp what was going on, or insisted that they stay until the last day of break for him to get better _ ). His uncle had given him a small smile full of understanding when he found him in the hallway right outside the bathroom, handing him a cup of water. Eddie had been grateful for his uncle the entire time of his visit. His uncle was a quiet man who didn’t seem to be bold enough to stand up to Sonia, but he made things more bearable. Trips into town ( _ He’d bought all of the Losers gifts for a belated Christmas, but he’d taken extra care choosing Richie’s after guilt ate him up over the Walkman _ ), walks in the forest behind the house with just the two of them, telling Eddie about the house and the area, and going down to ice skate on the frozen lake were just a few things his uncle had done to try and keep things fun for Eddie.

Eddie made his way back towards the phone and looked at it again, considering calling back Beverly, or Stan. Stan’s house would be the better option, seeing as it was a direct line to Richie. What if Richie didn’t want to talk though? Eddie couldn’t do that to him after saying nothing for so long, but he needed to say something. He needed to hear Richie make a joke, or do a stupid voice, or even make a mom joke. Eddie needed  _ something  _ to know that he was still alive. So, Eddie dialed Stan’s house number, albeit reluctantly, and waited for someone to pick up. It felt like hours passed before someone finally answered.

“ _ Hello? This is the Uris household, Don Uris speaking _ ,” A familiar voice answered the phone, and Eddie took a shaky breath.

“R-rabbi Uris? This is Eddie. Is um- is Stan home and able to talk?” His voice sounded a lot meeker than he would’ve liked, but he couldn’t do much at that point ( _ He was never religious before, but Eddie was silently praying to whatever higher power there was to just let him know his best friend and love of his life was okay _ ).

“ _ He’s just with some of your other friends in the living room. I’ll get him right now, _ ” The line went quiet for a moment, then a muffled shout, before Don was back on the phone. “ _ Here you go, Eddie _ .”

“ _ Eddie? Is everything okay? _ ” Stan’s steady voice came through the phone, and Eddie had to take a deep breath to try and keep some of his composure. 

“Yeah, it’s just- I um… Beverly just called me and filled me in on what’s happening with Richie, and-and I wanted to call and see if he- if you guys were okay,” Eddie cleared his throat at the end, not that he needed to.

“ _ We’re alright, Eddie. Richie just woke up, do you want to talk to him? _ ” He asked calmly, knowing already what the answer would be. He got Eddie’s answer, then turned to go back to get Riche, but found he was already standing by him in the hallway.

“Is that Eddie?” He asked quietly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Stan nodded and handed him the phone, before leaving the hallway to give the two privacy.

“ _ Hey, Eddie Spaghetti. How’re you doing?”  _ Richie’s voice was soft on the other end of the line, uncharacteristically so for the comic of the gang. 

“H-how could you ask me that when your mom’s in the hospital and-and you’re just about dead on your feet, dumbass?!” Eddie could have screamed. Of course Richie was asking him how  _ he  _ was doing. The lankier boy could be on fire and somehow still tell everyone else to not worry about him.

“ _ Sorry, Eds. I’ve uh... I’ve been better. How’s your mom doing without me? I hope she was able to handle being away from me for so long, _ ” Richie chuckled lightly, and Eddie felt tears in his eyes ( _ That idiot had been through so much and still managed to laugh. Though, looking at it knowing what he knew, Eddie realized that the laughter and jokes really had just been a cover. Selfless idiot) _ .

“Don’t joke about my mom, asshole,” he said quietly, and Richie could hear the sadness so clearly, it was palpable. “And don’t call me Eds.”

( _ Neither commented on what exactly it was that they were doing. They needed normalcy _ ).

“ _ Force of habit, Eduardo, _ ” Richie said, and Eddie smiled to himself. “ _ So, you’re coming back tomorrow morning? _ ”

“Yeah, I’m leaving really early. My mom wants to get us back soon as possible, so probably around nine or ten is when I’ll be back,” Eddie began to unconsciously mess with his fanny pack, the rattle of pills a quiet comfort ( _ Eddie had asked Richie to help him get rid of the placebos last Summer, before they started high school, but Eddie couldn’t part with them, so Richie hadn’t made him. Eddie was thankful he hadn’t made him do it. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Eddie knew he needed them, but not for any medical reason). _

“ _ Spaghetti Head, you can’t be serious. It’s a five hour drive from Vermont to Maine. The intelligent, beautiful, level-headed Sonia Kaspbrak wants to wake you up, at four in the morning, to come home to the shittiest town in Maine? Seems insane, but by all means, be my guest. _ ”

“Richie, I don’t care that it’s early. I just can’t wait to get home and see you and the others,” Eddie sighed, when he heard the garage door. “I’m sorry Richie, I have to go, my mom’s home. I’ll see you in the morning, okay? Goodnight!”

~~~~~~

Richie sighed as he put the phone back on the receiver, then leaned his head against the wall, closing his eyes. His body was still exhausted and talking had taken a lot out of him. When he opened his eyes again, Stan was standing there, a neutral expression on his face, but looking closely, Richie could see the way his eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly with concern ( _ Despite being the most talkative of the group, he had a knack for picking up on things about his friends, ever observant _ ).

“Rich, you need to eat and then lie back down. A half hour nap after no sleep for a week isn’t enough,” Stan said matter-of-factly, then put an arm around Richie’s waist and led him to the living room.

“It’s fine, Staniel the maniel. It’s just that I’m so weak after being away from my beloved Sonia for so long, I-I uh…” Richie felt his knees buckle beneath him, but Stan kept him upright until they reached the couch in the living room. “Thanks.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Rich. I’ll go grab you some water and something to eat. Stay put and try to stay awake,” Stan said, then left the room. Richie  _ did  _ try to stay awake, but he was  _ so tired,  _ and he couldn’t stop his eyes from drifting shut. He wasn’t quite awake, but he wasn’t really asleep either ( _ At the very least he was content, in whatever you wanted to call this inbetween state _ ). 

Richie wasn’t sure how long it was, but Stan eventually came back into the room with a plate, where a sandwich and sizeable pile of chips were balanced. He’d also brought two cups of water, and he grinned a little bit when he saw Richie picking at his jeans, tapping his foot. He’d never been good at staying still, and seeing him fidgeting again made Stan feel a bit better, since Richie was clearly feeling like himself. When Stan saw him in the hospital, laying there limp and still like a skeleton, ( _ He still looked like one, because they all knew one meal and a quick nap wouldn’t fix an entire childhood full of malnourishment and abuse _ ) Stan didn’t see anyone or any  _ thing _ that resembled his best friend. 

“Aw, look at you, Stanny! Cooking for me, letting me come over…” Richie made an over dramatic gasp. “Why, Staniel, are you trying to  _ swoon  _ me? You know I could never be unfaithful to one Mrs-” Richie was cut off by a sudden harsh coughing fit, and Stan tensed up, groaning a bit internally. Richie’s throat was probably feeling the effects of being neglected for nearly the entire week.

“Richie, you have to take it easy. Your body’s pretty weak right now, and it’d be bad if you got sick on top of all of this,” Stan sighed and set down the plates and cups on the coffee table in front of the couch, mouth turned down in a true frown ( _ This shocked Richie. Stan was careful to be minute with his expressions, that way nobody could really tell what he was thinking or feeling, so he didn’t get hurt. For Stan to really frown, well… Richie didn’t even know what that meant). _

Richie opened his mouth to speak, but decided against it, opting to reach for one of the cups of water. Taking a long drink, the cool water soothed his throat. He cleared his throat and sighed, looking at Stan, who hadn’t taken his eyes off of Richie, all the while still eating his own food. Hesitantly, Richie grabbed the sandwich and took a bite.

He’d never tasted anything better.

It seemed extremely dramatic, even in his own head, but the sandwich really was perfect. Of course Stan would know Richie’s favorite after knowing him for so long. He scarfed down the sandwich quickly, but not without Stan giving him a warning glance, which clearly conveyed:  _ if you choke, I’m not saving your dumbass because you ate like an actual animal _ . So he slowed down, but just enough so he didn’t choke. The rest of the food was gone just as fast, and Richie wasted no time in washing it down with the water. When he finished, he leaned back into the couch with a sigh, closing his eyes as he sank into the cushions a bit.

“Hey, no falling asleep here. My mom made up the guest room for a reason,” Stan poked him in the arm while he gathered their dishes. Richie groaned comically, but got up nonetheless, following Stan to the guest room. 

~~~~~~

“Eddie-kins, are you sure you should be going to see friends so soon after we just got home? Wouldn’t it be nice to spend time in your own home for a little bit? With me?” Sonia pursed her lips as Eddie got his things out of the car, taking a look at his watch. It was hardly 10 A.M. and his mother was already driving him crazy. ( _ Though, getting up so early to drive back to Derry didn’t help. He’d tried to sleep on the drive, but Sonia was persistent in making small talk with Eddie _ ).

“Sorry, Mommy, but Richie’s mom is in the hospital right now. He really needs the other L- I, I mean me and his other friends,” Eddie quickly corrected himself, although, he was beginning to get frustrated. He took his things inside before Sonia could continue, though she trailed close behind. He dropped his stuff on his bed, then checked his fanny pack to make sure he had everything. As he was running out the door, Sonia stopped him, and he knew what she was expecting.

“Bye Mommy, I love you,” Eddie said quickly, giving her a kiss on the cheek before he finally got out of the house. He grabbed his bike and rode as fast as he could towards Stan’s house, the pills in his fanny pack rattling all the while.

~~~~~~

“I really appreciate everything, Mr. and Mrs. Uris, but I-I don’t want to be a bother or anything,” Richie stammered as Mrs. Uris set a plate of breakfast in front of Richie and Stan respectively. “I can go home later, really, I’m good.”

Richie had been trying to have some variation of the conversation all morning, but Stan’s parent, especially his mom, weren’t having any of it. She’d cut him off before he could begin to suggest that he was a burden ( _ Both of Stan’s parents had taken Richie in as if it were self-evident, though Richie couldn’t understand for the life of him why they thought he deserved it) _ .

“I don’t want to hear it, Richie. You need help, and it’s okay to admit that. You can rely on someone other than yourself sometimes,” Andrea caringly ruffled his hair before she sat down in front of her own breakfast. Dumbfounded, Richie sat there silently, his mouth gaping a bit as he looked at his breakfast. Stan snorted a little, a poorly covered stifle of a full on laugh.

The boys quickly ate their breakfast, Richie jabbering on the entire time ( _ He was careful not to waste too much time talking though. He wanted to see  _ _ Eddie _ _ the rest of the Losers _ ). It made Stan beam a toothy smile when he saw his best friend back to his normal self. He still looked awful, but clearly nothing could bring down a one Richie Tozier.

“You boys be careful, alright? No more getting into trouble,” Stan’s dad warned from the door as Stan and Richie both climbed onto Stan’s bike.

“Yes, Dad,” Stan nodded and began to pedal down the street, Richie keeping his arms wrapped securely around Stan’s midsection. With each passing second they were closer to the clubhouse and the other Losers.

Towards their home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you guys so much again, i love you all so much and i'm glad you've enjoyed my story! i hope i can get the next chapter out sooner rather than later :-)
> 
> reach me on tumblr!!!
> 
> @scribble-stars


	15. (i’d forgotten) people are kind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys i’m really sorry to leave you all hanging for so long just to produce this garbage, but i’ve been super uninspired with this, and i haven’t been into the It fandom for a long long time, and i think i forced myself to write this for a while, but i’m kinda done. i’m sorry again
> 
> no tw for this chapter

_you said, "I will listen, tell it all. when you're finished, we'll talk more"_

_but I didn't know how, so we took it in turns_

_and to my surprise, we found my words_

\- ready now by dodie clark

~~~~~~

When they reached the clubhouse, Stan was out of breath. While Richie didn’t weigh much, he was still tall, and he added weight for Stan to bike with all the same. Richie, meanwhile, was uncharacteristically quiet the whole time, opting to just rest his head against Stan’s back for the ride ( _He was still exhausted, even after sleeping the most he had in possibly years. The week really had run him even further into the ground than he had previously been, and he needed to prepare to see Eddie. He had to preserve the minimal amount of energy he had_ ).

“Are you…” Stan took a breath, trying to get back to his normal breathing. “Are you okay, Rich? I’m asking honestly. No jokes right now,” Stan glanced at the other boy as they started to wheel his bike closer to the base of the entrance. Richie pressed his lips into a tight line, watching his feet as they walked for a moment.

“I don’t know. I’m tired,” he truthfully admitted, rubbing his eyes. “And I-I’m nervous to see everyone. I was a mess the last time they saw me,” Richie said, glancing up at Stan, who had an understanding smile on his face.

“None of them judge you for that, okay? Not a single one of us knows what you’ve been through. Not this past week, and we probably haven’t for years,” Stan said, regret and guilt evident in his tone ( _The entire endeavor was strange to Richie. Stan was probably more closed off than Richie most of the time, besides when he came to him or Bill to talk about what was bothering him, but now he was the one giving emotional advice? It was all peculiar_ ).

Stan flipped down the kickstand and left it by the others’ bikes as Richie stood by his side. They could hear the rest of the Losers in the clubhouse, even from the outside entrance. In an uncharacteristic act, Stan grabbed Richie’s hand and squeezed it gently.

“You’ve got this, okay? I really do promise, we love you no matter what,” Stan reassured Richie for not the first or last time in their so far uneventful day. Richie nodded and squeezed back, then sucked in a sharp breath, his thin frame shuddering as he exhaled.

“Don’t be gay, Stanny boy. You know I’m taken by-”  
  


“Beep Beep, Richie.”

~~~~~~

As soon as Stan and Richie entered the clubhouse, the other Losers went silent, and Richie’s cheeks grew red. Sure, he was used to being the center of attention, but that was when he was joking, bad or good. Right then, everything was tense and quiet.

“Uh… hi?” Richie offered, awkwardly, raising his hand to give a small wave, however, before he knew what was happening, a flurry of dark brown hair and soft colored clothes bombarded him, wrapping arms around his midsection. 

“Eds? Are you-”  
  


“Just shut up for a second, Trashmouth,” Eddie whispered, hugging Richie even tighter. 

Richie rolled with it and decided to just wrap his arms around Eddie in return, resting his chin on the top of his head. It didn’t take long for the rest of the Losers to join in on the action, piling into a large group hug. Richie smiled and took in the moment, forever grateful for his best friends and just how kind they were. They stayed like that for a few minutes longer, before untangling themselves and getting comfortable around the clubhouse.

Much to his pleasant surprise, Richie found himself pressed against Eddie in the hammock. The familiarity of it all made him forget anything had been wrong at all in the first place. He was with his real family, not his friends, when he was sat in the clubhouse. Eddie had a hand intertwined with Richie’s, and he was reading another comic book, following along softly outloud. The handholding was new, but neither acknowledged it, they simply just took in the moment. As Eddie read the comic in a voice that only Richie could hear, Richie felt the eyes of the ther Losers shift towards them every so often, but not a single one of them commented ( _They all knew that everything that had happened over the past two months had made the boys grow closer, despite the miscommunication. Their bond was too strong, and finally seeing one another had just caused them to grow even closer_ ). 

~~~~~~

After copious amounts of paperwork, court days, and packing his things, Richie was moving in with Stan and his family. He was happy to live with his best friend, his parents had been better parents to Richie than his real parents ever were. The Losers hung out more frequently than ever, all of them were happy to see their Richie coming back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’m sorry the end is super short and disappointing, i hope you guys can forgive me for that. i probably won’t write anything else for the It fandom after this, i’m sorry


End file.
